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A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

BUT  A   PHILISTINE. 

A  WOMAN'S  WORD,  AND   HOW   SHE   KEPT   IT. 

DARRYLL   GAP;    OR,  WHETHER    IT   PAID. 

ONLY   GIRLS. 

THAT   QUEER   GIRL. 

New  Editions.     Price,  $1.OO  each. 


THE   MILLS  OF  TUXBURY. 

THE    HOLLANDS. 

SIX    IN  ALL 

THE    DEERINGS  OF  MEDBURY. 

LEE   AND   SHEPARD,    PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 


BY 

VIRGINIA   F.   TOWNSEND 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK    CHARLES  T.   THLLINGHAM 

1887 


COI'YKIGHT,  188G,    HV    LlCE  AND  SnEl'AKD. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 


ELECTROTVPKD 
BY  C.  J.  PETERS  AND  SON,  BOSTON. 


I. 

THE  story  I  am  about  to  tell  you  opened  just  as 
the  hands  of  the  clock  011  the  Boston  Old  South 
Meeting-House  pointed  to  noonday. 

At  that  moment,  a  young  man  came  out  of  a 
building  on  Somerset  Street.  The  lintel  over  the 
doorway  bore,  in  large  lettering,  the  words :  "  New 
England  Historic  and  Genealogical  Society."  He 
paused,  glancing  up  and  down  the  thoroughfare, 
evidently  in  some  doubt  as  to  his  next  movement. 
Then,  looking  at  his  watch,  he  faced  rapidly  about, 
and  strode  up  the  sidewalk,  toward  Beacon  Street. 

It  was  one  of  those  lovely  days  which,  in  that 
latitude,  succeed  the  autumnal  equinox.  The  sun 
lay  with  soft,  mellow  warmth  on  the  tall  brick 
houses  opposite,  and  on  the  sidewalk  of  the  narrow, 
irregular  street.  It  was  easy  to  fancy,  at  that  mo- 
ment, that  the  summer  had  relented,  and  turned 
back  to  smile  upon  the  land  she  had  left  to  the  fierce 
lashing  of  the  line-storm. 

Raymond  Gathorpe,  or  Ray,  as  ninety-nine  people 
out  of  a  hundred  would  have  called  him,  straight- 
ened his  shoulders,  and  passed  with  the  strong  alert 

7 


8      .          A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

tread  of  young  manhood  along  the  pavement.  He 
inspired  deep  breaths  of  the  glorious  autumn  air; 
he  felt  it  was  a  good  thing  to  be  alive ;  he  could  not, 
indeed,  remember  a  time  when  he  had  felt  otherwise; 
the  darkest  experiences  of  his  life  affording  only 
some  shadowy  reminiscences  of  measles  and  whoop- 
ing-cough. 

Kay  Gathorpe  could,  of  course,  have  no  suspicion 
that  events  destined  to  exercise  a  powerful  influence 
on  his  future,  had  just  hinged  on  the  choice  he  had 
made  as  to  the  way  he  should  go.  His  train  would 
leave  the  Eastern  station  in  half  an  hour ;  but  there 
was  a  chance,  if  he  ran  round  to  the  Revere,  that  he 
would  meet  a  classmate  from  New  York.  Ray  de- 
cided, as  we  have  seen,  for  the  chance,  and>  the  later 
train. 

He  had  spent  the  last  hour  in  the  Historic  Library, 
searching  out  some  remote  branches  of  his  own  an- 
cestral tree.  He  had  never  been  inside  the  walls 
before.  It  was,  therefore,  with  some  curiosity  that 
he  ascended  the  staircase.  At  its  landing,  the  first 
object  that  faced  him  was  a  tall  clock,  briskly  tick- 
ing away  the  nineteenth  century,  and  looking  ancient 
enough  to  be  a  contemporary  of  the  Mayflower.  On 
his  right  was  a  plaster  bust  of  Washington.  Ancient 
engravings  and  portraits  hung  on  the  walls.  Alto- 
gether, there  was  a  mild,  pleasant  flavor  of  antiquity 
about  the  place. 

The  idea  of  inspecting  the  family  records  of  re- 
mote connections  had  never  originated  with  Ray ;  he 
had  undertaken  it  at  the  request  of  his  grand-uncle 
Kenneth,  whose  wishes  were  invariably  a  law  to  his 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  9 

nephew.  But  as  the  young  man  sat  at  one  of  the 
reading-tables,  several  thin,  black-covered  pamph- 
lets awaiting  his  examination,  he  glanced  about  the 
apartment,  where  the  plain,  dark  bookcases  lined  the 
walls  from  floor  to  ceiling ;  he  began  to  feel  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  place.  As  he  copied  the  names  out 
of  the  records,  names  of  dead  generations  and  of 
old  colonial  days,  they  acquired  some  fresh  human 
interest  for  him.  Many  of  these  names  had  already 
grown  dim  on  ancient  headstones  upon  Copp's  Hill 
and  in  the  old  Granary  burying-ground.  But  behind 
the  dead  names  which  flowed  rapidly  from  his  pen, 
men  witfi  keen  brains,  strong  hearts,  and  strenuous 
purposes  had  once  stood. 

"  Plucky  old  set  they  were  !  "  Ray's  rapid  thoughts 
went.  He  felt  a  new  admiration  for  the  high  cour- 
age that  had  faced  the  wilderness  and  the  wintry 
climate,  the  howling  beasts  and  the  treacherous 
savages.  He  wondered  whether  the  old  heroic 
breed  was  not  pretty  much  extinct.  "  I  suspect  we 
are  rather  a  poor  lot  of  weak  nerves  and  flaccid 
muscles,  at  the  best,"  he  comfortably  philosophized, 
as  he  fingered  the  records,  and  finished  his  lists  of 
names  and  dates. 

But  somehow  the  Boston  of  to-day  —  vast,  noisy, 
thrifty  —  seemed  to  have  undergone  some  change, 
when  he  stepped  out  from  that  quiet  building  on 
Somerset  Street.  He  did  not  suspect  that  he  was 
under  the  spell  of  her  old  traditions,  of  her  noble 
memories,  of  her  lofty,  if  stern,  ideals.  But,  all  the 
same,  his  imagination  had  been  touched,  and  his 
thoughts  set  to  a  higher  key. 


10  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Ray  Gathorpe  was  a  slender,  well  built,  broad- 
shouldered  young  fellow,  who  had  graduated  from 
Harvard  the  previous  summer.  The  clear,  strong 
lines  of  his  face  gave  the  impression  of  having  been 
moulded  after  some  tenacious  family  type.  He  was 
not  in  the  least  an  Adonis  ;  still,  he  looked  something 
better  than  handsome,  at  moments  when  feeling  and 
enthusiasm  kindled  his  face  ;  he  wore  a  suit  of  dark, 
well  fitting  cloth,  but  though  he  was  young  enough 
to  make  a  point  of  such  a  matter,  there  was  nothing 
of  the  fop  in  his  dress  or  his  bearing. 

The  fire  of  young  manhood  was  in  Ray  Gathorpe 's 
blood,  its  high  courage,  and  infinite  hope  in  his  soul, 
as  his  swift  steps  rang  along  the  narrow  sidewalk, 
until  he  reached  Ashburton  Place.  He  glanced  up 
the  short  thoroughfare,  that  looked  sombre,  even  in 
the  noon  sunshine ;  no  sign  of  shrub  or  leaf,  no  bit 
of  green  relieving  its  melancholy  bareness. 

Oidy  one  figure  was  in  sight,  and  it  was  thrown 
into  sharp  relief  by  the  noonday  glare.  It  was  the 
figure  of  a  slender-built  youth,  hardly  more  than  a 
lad.  His  clothes  had  a  decidedly  seedy  look.  He 
walked  at  so  rapid  a  gait  that  by  the  time  he  had 
reached  the  corner,  the  two  faced  each  other. 

Had  several  people  been  in  sight,  Ray's  attention 
might  not  have  been  so  strongly  drawn  to  that  soli- 
tary figure  in  the  perspective.  Something  a  little 
unusual  in  the  stranger's  appearance  struck  him,  and 
when  they  came  together  at  the  corner,  and  barely 
escaped  running  into  each  other,  Ray  gazed  curiously 
at  the  dark,  thin  face  under  the  shabby  cap. 

The  youth,  startled  by  grazing  somebody's  arm, 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  11 

raised  his  head,  and  then  first  became  aware  of  Ray's 
proximity.  He  had  a  good  deal  the  appearance  of 
one  who  wakes  suddenly  from  a  nightmare.  Ray 
gazed  into  the  large,  black,  deeply  rimmed  eyes.  In 
all  his  life  he  had  never  seen  eyes  with  such  a  look 
of  misery  in  them. 

The  stranger's  glance  went  over  Ray  in  a  dazed, 
listless  fashion.  Then  something  curious  happened. 
There  was  a  quickening  of  life  in  the  melancholy 
eyes ;  the  slight  figure  seemed  on  the  instant  to 
grow  tall  and  tense.  The  youth  stood  still  and 
stared  at  Ray  with  a  stern,  solemn  gaze,  that  held  in 
it  a  question  of  life  or  death.  There  was  no  appeal 
for  help  or  pity  in  that  brief,  despairing  gaze  ;  yet  he 
knew  that  under  a  look  like  that  must  lie  some  awful 
need,  some  grief  too  mighty  for  moan  or  cry. 

But  it  was  all  over  in  an  instant  or  two.  No  word 
had  been  uttered  on  either  side,  though  the  gaze  had 
brought  Ray  to  a  standstill. 

All  his  classmates  would  have  taken  their  oath 
that  young  Gathorpe  was  a  kind-hearted  fellow. 
The  wretchedness  which  he  had  read  in  the  young 
face  —  younger  than  his  own  —  had  touched  his  gen- 
erous side.  He  had  the  swift  impulsive  tempera- 
ment, too,  that  never  admits  long  debate  on  any 
course  of  action. 

"I  am  going  to  see  this  thing  out,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and  he  wheeled  sharply  round,  and  started 
for  the  stranger,  whose  rapid  gait  would  soon  have 
carried  him  out  of  sight. 

"  Hold  up,  will  you,  for  a  moment  ?  I  want  to 
speak  with  you." 


12  A  BOSTON  GIBL'S  AMBITIONS. 

The  words,  shouted  a  little  way  behind  the  youth, 
arrested  him.  He  stopped,  turned  sharply  round, 
and  confronted  the  stranger  he  had  seen  at  the 
corner. 

Ray  came  up  on  a  run.  "I  hope  you  will  pardoa 
me,"  he  said;  "but  I  want  to  know  what  you  were 
thinking  of  when  we  met  just  now,  and  you  looked 
at  me  in  that  strange  fashion  ?  " 

A  faint  flush  crept  into  the  dark,  thin  cheeks. 
The  youth  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  didn't  mean  to 
be  rude,"  he  said.  "  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  do- 
ing." He  spoke  in  low,  clear  tones,  which  showed 
that  early  training  had  formed  a  habit.  There  was 
a  touch  of  apology  in  his  manner,  as  in  his  words. 

Ray  began  to  feel  the  situation  awkward.  The 
easiest  way  out  of  it  would  be  the  frankest.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  the  shabby  coat-sleeve.  Whatever 
were  the  young  man's  faults,  the  generous,  lovable 
side  of  his  nature  always  came  to  the  surface  when 
he  did  a  kindly  action,  and  always  gave  to  the  deed 
an  added  grace.  "  My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  look- 
ing into  the  black  eyes,  which  were  regarding  him 
with  a  kind  of  dazed  wonder,  his  own  full  of  some- 
thing that  would  have  drawn  a  timid  woman  or  a 
frightened  child  to  him  with  unquestioning  faith; 
"I  was  sure,  when  you  looked  at  me  as  you  did, 
that  you  were  in  some  horrible  trouble.  I  couldn't 
let  you  go  until  I  had  followed  you  and  asked  what 
it  all  meant,  and  whether  I  could  serve  you  ?  " 

A  change  flashed  over  the  dark  face ;  the  thin  lips 
quivered,  then  a  husky,  tremulous  voice  said:  "You 
are  very  good,  but  —  I  am  not  a  beggar." 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  13 

There  was  something  in  the  last  words  half  re- 
proachful, half  defiant,  and  yet  infinitely  pathetic. 
They  gave  Ray  a  glimpse  into  some  great  misery  and 
pride,  such  as  he  had  never  come  across  in  his  brief, 
prosperous  life.  But  this  speech  had  afforded  him 
an  advantage. 

"  Have  I  acted  as  though  I  thought  you  one  ?  "  he 
asked,  quietly,  looking  at  the  stranger  with  his  clear, 
expressive  eyes. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  at  that  moment  out  of 
the  shabby  clothes  and  the  sad  young  face  shone 
the  quality,  lacking  which  no  man  can  be  a  gentle- 
man. 

"And  I  begged  yours  at  the  outset,"  replied 
Ray,  with  a  smile  that  lent  a  new  grace  to 
the  words.  "I  think  we  are  on  equal  ground 
now.  Won't  you  go  a  little  beyond  that,  and  trust 
me?" 

The  black  eyes  searched  the  fine  blond  face  for  a 
moment.  A  new  expression  crept  into  their  hope- 
lessness. The  answer  came  with  an  effort  that 
almost  wrenched  the  slender  frame.  "  You  looked 
so  brave,  and  strong,  and  glad  at  that  moment,  I 
wondered  what  you  would  do  if  you  were  in  my 
case ! " 

There  was  no  need  Ray  should  speak,  with  his 
eyes  asking  in  that  pitying,  compelling  way,  "  What 
is  your  case  ?  " 

There  was  a  kind  of  gasping  sob;  then  the  words 
came,  with  a  sort  of  hurried  fierceness,  as  though  the 
speaker  feared  he  should  not  get  through  with  them. 
"What  you  would  do,  if  you  had  seen  the  friend 


14  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

who  was  all  the  world  to  you,  whom  you  would  die 
for,  —  perhaps  you  have  one,  —  dropping  at  your 
feet  from  sheer  starvation,  and  you  hadn't  a  crust,  or 
a  way  to  get  one  ?  " 

Ray's  hand  clutched  the  speaker's  arm.  "  I  should 
steal,  murder,  anything,"  he  burst  out.  "  But  good 
heavens !  you  don't  really  mean  it !  you  don't  dare 
to  say  it  is  so  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"Just  so  bad  as  that."  A  dull  red  stole  into  the 
dark  cheeks,  but  the  eyes  held  Ray's  steadily. 

"Who  is  your  friend?     Where  is  he?" 

"It  isn't  a  man.     She  —  " 

,"  You  don't  mean  it  is  a  woman? " 

"  It  is  my  own  sister !  " 

"  A  girl  —  a  girl  actually  starving  to  death ! " 

"  She  is  two  years  younger  than  I." 

"  It  is  monstrous - —  I  say  it  is  devilish  !  "  burst 
out  Ray.  He  had  a  feeling  that  somebody  must  be 
responsible  for  such  a  state  of  things,  and  his 
mingled  pity  and  wrath  wrought  him  to  such  a 
mood  of  fierceness,  that  had  anybody  dared  at  that 
moment  to  hint  a  doubt  of  the  stranger's  stoiy,  in 
Ray  Gathorpe's  hearing,  it  would  have  gone  hard 
with  the  speaker.  But  the  next  instant,  Ray  had 
whipped  out  his  pocket-book  and  was  fumbling  in- 
side. He  had  been  making  some  rather  extravagant 
purchases  that  morning,  and  they  had,  for  the  mo- 
ment, a  good  deal  reduced  his  finances.  Four  ten 
dollar  notes  were  all,  it  appeared,  that  he  had  about 
him.  He  pressed  the  money  into  the  stranger's 
palm.  "There,  that  will  tide  her  over  starvation 
this  time ! "  he  said ;  and  now  he  perceived  what 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  15 

the  pinched  face  and  the  deep  rims  round  the  eyes 
must  mean. 

The  youth  glanced  at  the  notes,  and  stood  rooted 
to  the  spot.  "  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  ?  " 
he  asked,  his  tone,  his  expression,  one  of  sheer 
amazement. 

Kay's  look  showed  that  he  did  not  catch  the  drift 
of  this  question. 

"  You  have  given  me  forty  dollars  !  " 

"  Oh  !  that  is  all,  is  it  ?  "  Ray  tried  to  carry  it  off 
gayly,  but  the  smile  shone  about  unsteady  lips.  "  It 
doesn't  strike  me  as  any  great  munificence,  —  not 
worth  making  a  fuss  about,  certainly.  But  it  is  all 
I  happen  to  have  about  me  at  the  moment." 

The  next  instant  Ray  Gathorpe  heard  a  cry. 
To  the  day  of  his  death  he  will  not  forget  it. 
"  You  have  saved  her  life !  You  have  saved  her 
life  !  " 

"  Do  you  want  a  fellow  to  make  an  ass  of  himself 
on  the  street  here  ?  "  Ray  burst  out,  the  tears  in  his 
eyes.  "  You  may  rest  assured  of  one  thing,  though  ; 
you  haven't  seen  the  last  of  me  yet."  He  snatched 
out  a  pencil  and  card  from  his  pocket.  "  What  is 
'your  name  ?  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

Ray  scrawled  down  the  reply.  Two  minutes  later 
he  could  not,  for  his  life,  have  repeated  the  address 
on  that  card,  but  it  was  safe  for  future  reference  in 
his  coat-pocket. 

Then  he  held  out  his  hand.  His  smile  at  that 
moment  would  have  made  his  face  beautiful  in  the 
eyes  of  the  dullest  beholder.  "Now  go  to  your 
sister,"  he  said. 


16  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIONS. 

They  stood  still  with  locked  hands,  looking  at 
each  other;  neither  spoke.  But  the  change  which 
had  come  over  the  younger  of  the  faces  was  the 
change  from  despair  to  hope,  from  death  to  life. 
The  next  moment  Ray  Gathorpe  was  standing  alone 
near  the  corner  of  the  street,  in  the  bright  October 
noonday. 


II. 

THE  house  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  tall  brick  block, 
in  a  short,  narrow  street  at  the  North  End.  It  was  a 
noisy,  crowded  thoroughfare,  with  huddled  roofs 
darkening  the  sky.  The  block  had  long  ago  seen 
its  best  days,  and  had  the  shabby  broken-down  air  of 
houses  which  seem  to  have  a  consciousness  of  their 
approaching  doom  in  their  very  walls  and  timbers. 
The  fateful  eye  of  some  capitalist  would  be  sure  to 
light  on  the  building  one  of  these  days,  and  it  would 
be  pulled  down  remorselessly,  to  give  place  to  some 
smart  successor,  with  granite  fa§ade  and  plate-glass 
windows.  Meantime,  the  great  block  did  duty  in 
sheltering  scores  of  families  under  roofs  where,  in 
its  palmy  days,  a  single  household  had  been  comfort- 
ably domiciled  among  wide,  airy  rooms  and  halls.  In 
the  front  windows  were  frequent  cards  announcing 
"apartments  to  let."  One  of  these  cards  was  con- 
spicuously large,  in  the  window  of  the  central  house 
of  the  block,  where  the  high  flight  of  steps  and  the 
front  door  looked  a  little  dingier  than  any  of  their 
neighbors.  This  house  had  a  larger  list  of  tenants, 
too,  than  any  other  member  of  the  block ;  no  need 
to  say  these  tenants,  too,  were  people  of  greatly 
straitened  means.  But  there  was  a  choice  in  the 
rooms,  as  there  was  in  the  resources  and  character 
of  their  occupants.  The  old  roof,  with  its  dingy 

17 


18  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

red  brick  front,  sheltered  many  a  pitiful  and  tragic 
drama  of  human  life.  It  is  with  only  a  single  one 
of  these  that  this  story  is  concerned. 

If  you  had  ascended  three  tall,  winding  flights  of 
stairs,  each  flight  a  little  shabbier  and  dimmer  than 
the  preceding  one,  you  would  have  found,  at  the 
back  of  the  third  landing,  a  door  that  opened  into  a 
large  attic-chamber.  The  furniture  was  composed 
of  odds  and  ends  from  the  lower  stories.  Articles 
unfit  for  further  service  there  had  been  relegated  to 
this  apartment.  The  chairs  were  rickety,  the  carpet 
was  threadbare  and  ragged  in  places  ;  the  wall-paper, 
of  a  sprawlingly  hideous  pattern,  was  stained  where 
the  rains  had  dripped  from  the  roof.  In  one  of  the 
recesses  stood  an  old  pine  bedstead  of  brimstone 
yellow.  In  an  opposite  corner  was  a  lounge,  covered 
with  chintz,  hopelessly  faded,  and  patched  with  the 
miscellany  of  the  rag-bag.  Yet  this  old  back  attic, 
with  its  story  of  poverty  written  on  the  walls  and 
every  article  inside  them,  gave  one  a  curious  impres- 
sion that  its  occupants  were  people  of  refinement. 
In  the  lower  and  better  furnished  rooms,  one  cer- 
tainly would  have  been  conscious  of  no  such  feeling. 
A  few  small  articles  of  personal  property  scattered 
about,  were  not  sufficient  to  relieve  the  general  bare- 
ness, or  to  account  for  the  subtle  atmosphere  of  the 
place. 

The  sun  was  shining  through  the  large  window 
that  looked  down  on  the  unsightly  squares  of  back 
yard,  where  the  fences  were  tumbling,  and  ashes  lay 
in  frequent  heaps,  and  garments  flapped  on  the 
clothes-lines.  The  mid-day  sun  did  its  best  with  the 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  19 

old  attic.  It  poured  through  the  window-panes,  and 
flooded  the  carpet,  and  wanned  and  brightened  every 
object  on  which  it  rested.  It  flickered  about  the  old 
brimstone-colored  bedstead  in  the  recess,  and  a  soli- 
tary beam  glanced  over  a  head  that  lay,  as  though  in 
deep  slumber,  on  the  pillow. 

The  light  shot  across  the  face  and  into  the  hair. 
It  was  a  young,  almost  childish  face,  half  in  profile. 
The  hair  lay  in  such  dark  abundance  on  the  pillow 
and  about  the  cheeks  that  it  seemed  a  soft  brown 
nest  for  the  young,  pale  face,  that  made  one  think  of 
a  flower,  a  flower  chilled  and  drooping,  as  it  climbed 
after  light  and  warmth.  For  there  was  no  hint  of 
color  in  the  cheeks,  and  scarcely  one  about  the  lips. 
There  was  an  unspeakable  pathos  about  the  face, 
as  it  lay  there,  white  and  still,  with  the  noonday 
light  flickering  about  it.  Every  delicate  line  seemed 
to  have  a  story  of  loss  and  suffering.  You  might 
have  noticed  that  the  lips  were  closed  tightly,  as 
though  from  a  habit  of  reticence,  which  controlled 
them,  even  in  slumber. 

For  at  first  you  would  have  thought  the  girl  was 
in  a  sound  sleep,  in  the  shabbiness  and  silence  of  the 
old  attic,  and  then,  watching  the  white  face,  and  the 
motionless  figure,  a  sudden  fear  would  have  darted 
to  your  heart,  lest  this  might  be  the  sleep  into  which 
one  falling  shall  never  awaken.  Then  if,  in  swift 
terror,  you  drew  near,  you  would  have  caught  no 
flutter  of  breath  from  the  lips,  no  stir  of  life  from 
the  limbs;  you  would  have  known  that  the  girl 
lying  there  in  the  old  attic  was  either  unconscious 
or  dead. 


20  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS* 

Somebody  must  have  cared  for  her.  A  blanket 
was  wrapped  about  the  slight  figure,  and  she  had 
evidently  stirred  since  that  was  done,  for  it  was  all 
disarranged  about  the  shoulders,  and  a  small,  delicate, 
blue-veined  throat  rose  out  of  the  old  blanket,  and 
formed  a  slender  support  for  the  young  head  and  the 
weight  of  hair. 

There  was  a  sound  of  swift  footsteps  mounting  the 
stairs ;  the  door  opened,  and  somebody  burst  into 
the  room.  The  youth  who  had  had  that  strange 
interview  with  Ray  Gathorpe  rushed  to  the  bedside. 
"  Dorrice !  Dorrice  dear ! "  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  full 
of  solicitous  tenderness,  and  he  placed  on  a  chair, 
near  the  bed,  a  large  lunch-basket,  from  which  a 
warm,  stimulating  odor  began  to  penetrate  the  room. 

The  girl  moved  slightly.  The  familiar  voice,  the 
hands  about  her,  the  scent  of  the  food,  penetrated 
the  semi-unconscious  state  in  which  she  had  lain,  for 
the  most  part,  during  the  Last  two  hours,  though  she 
had  occasionally  started  and  stared  doubtfully  about 
her,  and  then  lapsed  again  into  the  faintness  which 
had  overcome  her  so  suddenly  that  morning. 

Her  brother  lifted  her  head,  and  raised  the  pillows 
against  it.  She  opened  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  at  him  in  a  dim,  bewildered  way.  Her  lips 
formed  a  word,  but  it  fluttered  too  faintly  from  them 
to  become  audible  to  a  stranger,  though  it  was  evi- 
dent she  had  attempted  to  speak  a  name.  Then  the 
deep-lashed  lids  dropped  again. 

The  eager,  tender,  imperative  cry  rang  once  more 
through  the  chamber.  "  Dorrice  dear,  look  up !  I 
have  brought  you  something  to  eat ;  see  here."  The 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  21 

speaker  threw  off  the  cover  of  the  lunch-basket, 
revealing  a  large  tureen  of  chicken-broth,  piping 
hot,  and  savory  enough  to  have  tempted  a  highly 
pampered  palate.  The  tureen  was  flanked  by  fresh 
baked  rolls  and  dainty  pats  of  butter.  The  lunch- 
basket  contained  other  succulent  edibles,  and  about 
the  whole  lay  bunches  of  grapes,  and  some  Florida 
oranges.  The  meal  was  well  calculated  to  stimulate 
a  long-fasting  palate. 

The  voice,  and  the  savory  smell  of  the  food 
brought  close  to  her  nostrils,  reached  the  failing 
senses  again.  The  girl  roused  ;  she  felt  her  brother's 
hand  on  her  forehead ;  she  opened  her  eyes ;  they 
rested  on  the  contents  of  the  lunch-basket,  which 
had  been  placed  on  the  bed.  A  low,  hungry  cry 
wavered  about  the  attic ;  then  the  wild,  terrible  greed 
of  those  who  are  famishing  came  into  her  eyes  — 
eyes  so  large  and  dark  that  they  seemed  half  of  the 
small,  colorless  face. 

The  youth  standing  over  her  heard  the  cry,  and 
saw  the  greed  in  the  eyes ;  his  lips  quivered,  half 
with  joy,  half  with  pity.  He  dipped  the  spoon  in 
the  broth.  "  I  dare  say  I  shall  make  an  awful  boggle 
feeding  you,"  he  attempted  to  say  playfully. 

A  small  hand,  the  delicate  skin  chapped  and 
roughened,  stole  out  from  under  the  blanket,  and 
laid  itself  on  his  arm.  "I  can  do  it  myself,  Carryl," 
said  a  faint  voice,  and  the  girl  seized  the  spoon,  and 
it  had  almost  touched  her  lips,  when  she  suddenly 
paused.  "Let  us  take  the  first  mouthful  together," 
she  said,  in  a  stronger  tone. 

A  dark  flush  stole  into  the  youth's  cheek.     Pride 


22  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

mastered  the  pang  of  hunger  that  was  gnawing  him. 
"  I  got  it  for  you,  Dorrice,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
that  he  did  not  mean  should  be  stern,  but  it  con- 
vinced the  girl  that  her  brother  had,  for  her  sake, 
begged  the  food  that  he  refused  to  share  with  her. 

A  swift  tremor  passed  over  the  pale  face.  She 
put  back  the  laden  spoon.  "If  you  will  not  eat 
with  me,  I  shall  not  taste  it,  Carryl ! " 

Her  voice  struggled  with  weakness,  but  you  could 
have  heard  it  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 

Her  brother  looked  in  her  eyes,  and  knew  she 
would  keep  her  word;  he  could  not  let  his  young 
ifster  starve.  Pride  was  vanquished  at  last;  with- 
out another  word,  he  sat  down,  took  a  spoon  and 
dipped  it  in  the  broth ;  his  sister  followed  his  exam- 
ple ;  but  before  they  had  swallowed  a  mouthful,  they 
paused  and  kissed  each  other  with  a  tender  solemnity 
that  was  like  a  sacred  rite. 

Three  hours  later,  the  sun  was  shining  into  the 
old  attic,  not  with  quite  the  brightness  of  the  noon- 
day, but  it  shed  a  pleasant  afternoon  glow  on  the 
stained  walls  and  the  shabby  carpet.  For  the  first 
hour  there  had  been  few  words  spoken.  The  two 
young  people  ate  their  meal  —  the  first  full  one 
they  had  had  for  a  week  —  with  an  eagerness  that 
left  no  time  for  speech,  and  afterward,  in  a  slow, 
dallying  fashion,  that  made  the  most  of  every  mouth- 
ful, as  warmth  and  strength  gradually  penetrated 
body  and  soul. 

Carryl  had  watched  the  slow  color  deepen  in 
Dorrice's  pale  cheeks,  and  the  pink  brighten  the 
white  lips.  For  himself,  he  had  had  no  farther 


A   BOSTON   GIRI/S   AMBITIONS.  23 

struggle  with  his  pride  after  that  first  mouthful 
passed  his  lips.  He  had  forgotten  everything  but 
the  joy  of  seeing  his  sister  eat,  and  the  look  in  the 
young  stranger's  eyes  as  the  two  locked  hands. 

But  as  the  dreadful  hunger  was  appeased,  words 
had  grown  more  frequent.  Once  in  a  while  the  two 
had  paused  to  smile  at  each  other,  the  smile  saying 
much  for  which  speech  was  not  yet  ready.  Occa- 
sionally, too,  there  would  be  some  brief  interjection 
over  the  contents  of  the  basket.  "  This  broth  is 
just  delicious."  "  What  perfect  breakfast-rolls  these 
are  !  "  "  Were  oranges  ever  so  sweet  ?  ".  "  Cer- 
tainly nobody  ever  tasted  such  grapes  before^" 
The  end  came  at  last  when  Dorrice  drew  a  deep  sigh 
of  repletion,  and  laid  down  the  plate  which  her 
brother  had  freshly  laden  with  fruit.  "I  can't, 
Carryl,"  she  answered  to  his  inquiring  glance. 
"  Really,  I  can't  eat  another  mouthful ! " 

"  Nor  I,  Dorrice  !  "  and  he  too  set  down  his  plate. 

A  little  silence  followed ;  then  Dorrice's  hand 
stole  into  her  brother's.  She  drew  a  deep  breath, 
her  mouth  twisted  a  moment,  then  she  cried  out, 
"Oh,  Carryl,  how  good  it  is  not  to  be  hungry! "  The 
great  tears  showered  over  her  cheeks. 

"I  know  it  is,  Dorrice."  He  tried  to  say  some- 
thing more,  but  a  sob  came,  and  he  dropped  his  head 
in  the  pillow  that  had  slipped  away  from  her,  and 
shook  from  head  to  foot. 

Dorrice  cried  too,  but  more  quietly,  one"  hand 
every  few  moments  moving  with  a  kind  of  pleading 
touch  through  the  short,  black  rings  of  hair  buried 
in  the  pillow.  During  the  week  that  had  passed, 


24  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

the  brother  and  sister  had  not  seen  each  other 
shed  a  tear.  Now  they  seemed  weeping  away  all  the 
misery  which  must  make  these  last  days'  a  dreadful 
memory  throughout  their  lives. 

At  last  the  sobs  grew  quieter.  Carryl  raised  his 
head ;  his  sister  met  his  look  with  a  smile  that  shone 
about  tremulous  lips,  and  under  long,  tear-wet  lashes, 
but  it  was  the  sort  of  smile  that  always  gives  heart 
and  hope  to  another. 

In  a  moment  he  said :  "  Dorrice,  you  want  to 
know  how  I  got  this  food  for  —  for  us  ?  " 

The  question  took  her  by  surprise,  it  went  so 
straight  to  the  point ;  and  his  tone,  too,  was  quite 
calm.  She  had  believed  that  it  must  cost  Carryl  a 
terrible  struggle  to  tell  his  sister  that  he  had  turned 
beggar  to  save  her  from  starvation.  She  had  not 
dared,  with  all  her  courage,  to  approach  the  subject. 

Now  her  hand  stole  into  his.  "  Yes,  I  want  to 
know,"  she  said,  softly.  But  she  did  not  look  him 
in  the  eyes. 

He  had,  for  a  long  time,  the  talking  to  himself; 
he  related  every  detail  of  his  interview  with  young 
Gathorpe.  There  was  something  else  that  he  had  to 
tell,  though,  in  his  narrative,  the  first  came  last.  It 
was  such  a  confused,  dim,  wretched  time  in  his 
thoughts,  that  the  words  which  described  it  were 
broken  and  half  coherent,  for  Carryl  was  trying  to 
recount  what  had  happened  after  his  sister  had 
dropped  senseless  at  his  feet  that  morning,  and  he 
had  placed  her  on  the  bed,  and  wrapped  her  in  the 
blankets,  and  rushed  from  the  attic  in  a  wild,  fren- 
zied impulse  to  save  her  from  famishing. 


A   BOSTON    GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  25 

One  event  stood  out  in  sharp  relief  from  the  con- 
fused misery  of  that  time.  He  found  himself  in 
front  of  a  bakery.  Loaves  of  bread,  piles  of  cake 
fresh  from  the  ovens,  were  on  the  counter.  He 
seemed  to  smell  again,  the  warm,  appetizing  odor  of 
the  newly  baked  food.  A  slight  girl,  hardly  older 
than  Dorrice,  was  standing  before  the  counter. 
Then  a  mad  impulse  came  over  Carryl ;  it  almost 
mastered  him.  If  he  could  dart  inside  that  door, 
seize  a  loaf  and  rush  off  with  it  before  a  soul  could 
interfere,  Dorrice's  life  would  be  saved.  He  had 
moved  toward  the  threshold,  another  step  would 
have  carried  him  across  it,  when  it  flashed  on  his 
consciousness  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  turning 
thief.  All  the  instincts  of  his  nature,  strengthened 
by  his  early  training,  recoiled  even  in  that  moment 
of  utmost  temptation.  He  faced  about  sharply, 
rushed  off  with  all  his  might,  half  fearing  lest  a 
demon  was  just  behind,  intent  on  dragging  him  back. 
After  that,  everything  was  blurred  again.  He  could 
not  remember  how  he  reached  Ashburton  Place.  He 
must  have  wandered  about  the  streets  in  a  vague, 
aimless  way ;  but  it  probably  was  less  than  half  an 
hour  after  he  left  the  bakery,  when  he  came  upon  the 
young  stranger.  He  should  see  those  white  loaves, 
those  sheets  of  fresh  brown  gingerbread  all  his  life ! 

Dorrice,  sitting  up  in  bed,  drank  in  every  word  of 
her  brother's  story,  her  little  thin  hands  clasped  to- 
gether, her  eyes  wide  and  bright  at  times,  the  tears 
blinding  them  at  others.  Ray  Gathorpe  had  looked 
very  splendid  in  Carryl's  eyes;  and,  in  his  grateful 
admiration,  he  painted  the  youth  to  Dorrice  as  an 


26  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

almost  supernaturally  glorious  creature.  Ray's 
dearest  friends  would  hardly  have  recognized  the 
portrait,  though,  of  course,  Carryl  had  not  the  faint- 
est idea  that  the  colors  owed  any  of  their  depth  and 
brilliancy  to  his  imagination. 

"I  could  not  feel  humiliated  when  I  took  that 
money,  Dorrice,"  he  said,  "any  more  than  if  my 
best  friend,  or  an  angel  of  God,  had  given  it  to  me." 

"  He  was  that  to  you  and  me,  Carryl ! "  with  a 
touch  of  wonder  and  awe  in  her  voice,  and  in  the 
sweet,  half-childish  face. 

But  half  an  hour  later,  when  the  westering  sun 
had  crept  far  away  from  the  bed  in  the  recess,  she 
was  saying,  with  a  bright,  girlish  air  and  tone,  "  I  am 
just  awfully  tired  of  lying  here,  Carryl !  It  seems 
like  playing  sick  when  one  is  well ;  and  I  always  did 
hate  'possuming,'  you  know.  I  must  get  up  and  sit 
on  the  lounge."  The  bright  voice,  the  little  decided 
movement  of  the  head,  that  was  so  much  a  part  of 
her,  were  all  immensely  pleasant  to  Carryl. 

He  sprang  up.  "  Let  me  carry  you,  Dorrice.  I 
can  set  you  down  there  in  two  seconds." 

"  So  can  my  own  feet,"  she  answered,  and  her  low, 
gay  little  laugh  wavered  about  the  attic. 

"We  shall  see  whether  they  can  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
and,  catching  her  up  with  the  old  blanket  in  his 
arms,  he  deposited  her  on  the  lounge.  There  was  a 
double  ring  of  merry  laughter  over  that  feat. 

A  tired,  wrinkled  old  woman,  passing  the  door  at 
that  moment,  caught  the  sounds,  and  sighed  heavily 
for  onvy  of  the  happy  creatures  who  could  laugh  in 
that  way  in  such  a  dreary  world ! 


A    BOSTON   GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  27 

"  You  are  about  as  much  weight  as  your  first  doll ! 
A  fellow  could  carry  you  a  mile  without  resting," 
said  the  brother. 

"  So  can  my  own  feet,  I  tell  you  again,  Carryl 
Dacres !  I  shall  prove  it  too,  this  evening." 

"  That  is  a  threat  to  make  a  fellow's  hair  stand  on 
end,  Dorrice !  Won't  you  please  to  be  a  little  less 
ambiguous?" 

"  1  am  going  to  have  a  walk  with  you  on  the 
Common !  There  is  no  mystery  in  that  statement,  I 
think." 

"  No  ;    it  is  simply  ridiculous." 

"  It  is  the  most  sensible  thing  I  could  do.  It  is  the 
one  that  will  make  me  feel  perfectly  well  again. 
Oh,  Carryl,"  the  playful,  chaffing  tone  changing  sud- 
denly to  an  earnest  one,  "  how  delightful  it  will  be 
to  saunter  under  the  old  trees  once  more,  and  watch 
the  great  shadows  on  the  mall,  and  hear  the  little 
rustles  of  wind  in  the  fading  leaves,  and  half  believe 
they  are  tlie.  tripping  of  fairy  feet  among  the 
branches.  Then  there  will  be  the  busy  crowds  com- 
ing and  going,  arid  the  streets  full  of  life  and  bright- 
ness, making  one  feel  that  one  is  a  part  of  the  life 
and  brightness  too." 

In  talk  like  this,  the  well-spring  of  gladness  at  the 
roots  of  the  girl's  nature,  rippled  and  sparkled. 

Carryl's  mood  rose  to  meet  hers.  It  was  such  an 
infinite  relief  to  be  gay  and  careless  after  the  strain 
of  the  last  days;  indeed,  the  awful  weight  had 
slipped  off  the  young  souls  so  suddenly,  the  deliver- 
ance had  come  about  in  such  a  strange,  unlooked-for 
fashion,  that  it  had  an  element  of  mystery  and  ro- 


28  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

mance  to  their  imaginations.  The  gift  itself  had 
been  so  large,  the  giver  so  gracious,  that  now,  the 
craving  pang  of  hunger  satisfied,  and  they  could 
reflect  on  it  all,  it  seemed  as  though  anything  good 
and  beautiful  might  follow.  They  were  both  very 
young,  though  recent  events  had  matured  them  in 
certain  respects.  But  youth,  with  its  hope  and  its 
courage,  was  once  more  alert  in  their  souls,  and  look- 
ing out  bravely  to  the  future.  Yet  these  two  had,  as 
we  have  seen,  been  facing  starvation  for  the  last 
week,  fighting  him  hour  by  hour,  and  a  short  time 
ago  it  seemed  at  least  doubtful  with  whom  the 
victory  would  lie. 

"Well,  Dorrice,"  said  Carryl,  in  a  tone  whose 
light  key  echoed  his  sister's,  "  you  shall  have  your 
own  way.  You  always  do,  you  know,  in  the  long 
run." 

"  You  dear  old  boy !  you  shall  have  the  nicest 
breakfast,  though  you  don't  deserve  it  for  telling 
such  a  tremendous  fib.  Oh,  Carryl,"  the  eager  voice 
faltered,  "how  good  it  will  seem  to  have  a  real 
breakfast  again  ! " 

"I  shall  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  a 
Maecenas-feast,"  said  Carryl,  gayly,  resolved  to 
banish  any  grim  phantoms  that  might  be  lurking  in 
their  memories. 

"  You  can't  have  quite  that,"  the  archness  of  her 
smile  shone  out  again,  "  unless  it  means  broiled  beef- 
steak, hot  coffee,  and  fresh  rolls.  Now,  isn't  that  a 
menu  to  make  your  mouth  water  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  it  will  haunt  my  dreams !  ITow  per- 
fectly you  have  arranged  it  all,  so  long  ahead !  " 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  29 

"But  you  know,  Cariyl,"-— here  her  voice  and 
manner,  though  she  was  two  years  his  junior,  had 
that  maternal  air  which  had  crept  into  them  since 
their  mother  died  —  "I  always  could  make  money  go 
farther  than  you." 

"  I  see  what  you  are  after  !  well,  you  shall  have 
the  spending  of  this ;  only  you  must  remember  that 
we  have  our  strength  to  build  up, — yours  especially, 
—  and  that  there  were  forty  dollars  !  " 

"Yes,  I  shall  remember,"  replied  Dorrice.  Her 
tone  implied  that  she  regarded  it  as  a  fabulous  sum. 
Indeed,  they  both  had  a  feeling  that  the  crisis  of 
their  lives  had  passed,  and  that  the  long  road  of  their 
dark  fortunes  had  turned  at  last.  But  older  and 
wiser  souls  might,  perhaps,  have  questioned  whether 
this  conviction  was  not  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that 
one  of  the  two  was  sixteen  and  the  other  eighteen. 

The  light  of  that  October  day  was  flickering  on 
the  housetops,  and  a  last  beam  shimmered  and  faded 
in  Dorrice's  brown  hair.  Human  happiness  is  a 
curious,  elusive  thing.  It  is  doubtful  whether  the 
sun,  going  down  over  the  vast,  busy,  hurrying  city, 
shone  on  two  happier  souls  than  the  brother  and 
sister  in  the  tenement-house  attic,  who  had  just 
escaped  starvation. 


III. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  clay  that  Ray  Gathorpe  had 
that  strange  encounter  in  Boston,  he  was  sitting 
under  the  roof  where  he  had  passed  most  of  the 
years  of  his  life.  It  was  an  ample  roof,  nearly  as 
old  as  the  century.  The  house  was  of  gray  stone. 
Wings  had  been  added  to  it  in  later  years ;  it  stood 
on  a  slight  elevation  in  the  midst  of  handsome 
grounds  —  a  wide,  noble,  hospitable  mansion,  with 
little  ornament  about  it,  and  yet  with  a  character  of 
repose  and  dignity  which  long  occupancy  can  alone 
confer  on  a  dwelling. 

The  house,  two  stories  in  height,  with  a  third  one 
in  the  roof,  seemed  to  have  some  closer  relation  to 
the  soil  about  it  than  most  houses  do.  You  felt  this 
gray,  nearly  three-quarters  of  a  century  old  mansion, 
with  its  porticos  and  fluted  columns,  was  the  only 
possible  one  for  the  place.  The  grounds,  too,  had 
the  ancient,  home-like  air  which  comes  of  long  culti- 
vation. They  were  bordered  by  a  low  stone  wall, 
and  broken  up  into  slopes  of  rich  lawn,  and  masses 
of  evergreens,  and  shrub-shaded  driveways ;  while 
beds  and  borderings  of  flowers  gave  vivid  color  and 
grace  to  the  landscape.  At  the  back  of  the  house 
stretched  a  large,  fragrant  old  garden.  Some  of  the 
fruit-trees  drew  their  mellow  juices  from  a  soil  that 

30 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  31 

had  nourished  them  for  more  than  a  century.  An 
older  house  had  occupied  the  site  of  the  present  one. 
There  was  a  tradition  that  the  Guthorpe  grounds  had 
never  been  sold.  A  grateful  Indian  chief,  for  some 
special  service  rendered  to  his  tribe,  had  bestowed 
the  land  on  the  first  of  the  Gathorpes,  who,  be- 
fore the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  had 
crossed  the  sea.  Later  purchases  of  outlying  acres 
had  brought  into  the  estate  several  deep  old  lanes 
that  wound  between  high  pastures,  and  were  rich 
with  grasses,  and  beautiful  with  giant  oaks  and 
graceful  old  elms. 

Wandering  through  these  lovely,  fragrant  places, 
embowered  in  foliage,  and  with  their  dim  depths  of 
cool  shadow  opening  out  into  fair  sunny  spaces, 
where  the  lush  grass  was  snowed  and  crimsoned 
with  the  wild  blooms  of  the  New  England  summer, 
it  was  not  difficult  to  understand  why  the  first 
owner  of  the  Gathorpe  estate  had  christened  it 
Bylanes.  That  homely,  picturesque  name  had  clung 
to  the  land  ever  since.  It  was  about  five  miles  from 
the  Massachusetts  coast-line,  and  twenty-five  north 
of  Boston. 

On  this  evening,  the  last  representatives  of  the 
Gathorpe  name  and  race  sat  in  a  small,  lower  room, 
in  one  of  the  wings  of  the  house.  This  apartment 
had  a  character  of  its  own.  It  had  been  originally 
designed  for  a  breakfast-room,  but  it  was  such  a 
quiet,  restful,  home-like  nook  that,  when  they  were 
alone,  the  statelier  rooms  were  sure  to  be  deserted 
for  the  small  one. 

No  room  at  Bylanes,  however,  had  the  air  of  soli- 


32  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

tude  and  silence  which  pervades  the  rooms  of  many 
old  houses.  A  subtle  atmosphere  seemed  to  haunt 
each  apartment,  as  though  the  vanished  generations 
had  left  there  some  aroma  of  life  and  sentiment. 
It  was  easy  to  imagine  that  the  walls  had  witnessed 
many  a  drama  of  human  life.  One  almost  listened 
for  footfalls  on  the  staircases,  and  fancied  forms 
moving  about  the  wide  old  halls  they  had  once 
tenanted. 

The  people  who  had  lived  and  died,  who  had  had 
their  joys  and  sorrows,  their  gay  feasts  and  their 
solemn  funerals,  under  the  ancient  roof,  appeared  to 
have  left  something  of  themselves  to  brood  there  in 
tender  memories,  when  they  passed,  for  the  last 
time,  over  its  threshold. 

But  in  the  warm,  softly  lighted  room,  the  two  who 
represented  all  who  were  left  of  their  kin,  were  just 
now  very  intent  on  the  present.  Even  the  furni- 
ture here  was,  for  the  most  part,  modern,  while  in 
the  rest  of  the  house,  embroidered  panels  and  hang- 
ings, solid  sideboards,  and  carved  cabinets,  tables, 
and  chairs,  were  largely  suggestive  of  other  fashions 
and  times.  A  wood-fire  crackled  and  blazed  in  the 
wide  chimney.  The  great  fire-dogs,  the  fender  of 
twisted,  burnished  brass,  flashed  back  the  hurrying 
flames.  The  gray  furnishings  of  the  room  were 
tinted  by  the  fire-light,  so  that  the  whole  had  a  soft, 
warm  dimness,  like  that  of  a  moss-hung  grotto,  with 
a  red  flush  of  sunrise  all  through  it. 

For  the  last  fifteen  minutes  there  had  been  no 
sound  in  the  room,  but  the  crackling  of  the  flames 
as  they  leaped  over  the  logs,  and  shot,  in  a  vast  red 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  33 

volume  of  blaze,  up  the  wide-mouthed  chimney ; 
while  outside,  the  moon  was  riding  in  full  state,  with 
some  silvery  clouds  scarfed  about  her  calm,  sweet 
face.  Little  winds  wandered  and  moaned  about  the 
windows,  as  though  they  had  lost  themselves.  There 
was  a  frosty  chill  in  the  air,  though  the  golden-rod 
still  shook  its  yellow  tassels  by  the  roadways,  and 
the  beds  and  borders  of  the  grounds  flamed  with  the 
most  splendid  flowering  of  the  year. 

Ray  sat  on  one  side  of  the  great  carved  chimney- 
piece,  his  uncle  Kenneth  on  the  other.  There  was 
more  than  a  half-century  between  the  years  of  the 
two,  and  an  artist,  seeing  them  at  that  moment, 
might  have  been  struck  with  the  idea  that  they  em- 
bodied two  distinct  types  of  manhood :  one  the  fire 
and  strength  and  pride  of  youth ;  the  other,  the 
calm,  the  dignity,  and  beauty  of  old  age. 

For  the  elder  of  the  two  who  sat  by  the  fire  that 
night,  and  who  silently  watched  his  nephew  across 
the  flames,  was  a  splendid  old  man.  If  you  had  met 
him  in  a  crowd,  you  would  have  turned  to  look  at 
his  face,  and  been  sorry  when  it  vanished  from  your 
sight.  He  was  tall,  and  straight  as  an  oak  ;  he  had  a 
noble  head,  with  white  hair,  and  silver  flowing  beard. 
The  face,  with  its  strong,  pure  outlines,  must  have 
had  a  certain  ruggedness  in  youth,  which  age  had 
gone  far  to  soften.  His  skin  was  still  un wrinkled  ; 
his  heavily  arched  brows  were  coal-black,  and  under 
these  shone  very  remarkable  eyes.  They  were  of 
deep  gray,  with  a  keen,  penetrating  quality,  which 
gave  one  an  impression  that  they  always  pierced  the 
surface  into  the  heart  of  things,  and  measured  these, 


34  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

not  after  a  hard,  critical,  unimaginative  standard; 
but  with  that  kindliness  and  sympathy  which  came 
partly  of  his  inborn  quality,  partly  from  his  large 
knowledge  and  experience  of  life  and  men. 

There  were  certain  lines  of  family  likeness,  which 
grew  clearer  with  acquaintance,  between  the  two 
men ;  while  the  smooth  skin,  the  black  brows,  the 
bright,  powerful  eyes,  made  the  elder  look  much 
younger  than  he  was. 

So  they  sat  there  in  the  silence,  —  the  Gathorpe  of 
a  past  generation,  and  the  Gathorpe  of  the  present. 
And  the  latter  was  gazing,  with  an  absent,  thought- 
ful expression,  quite  unlike  his  usual  one,  into  the 
blaze  ;  and  the  other  was  watching  his  nephew ;  and 
the  red  flames  leaped  and  flickered  between  them. 

At  last  Ray  stirred,  drew  a  deep  breath,  ran  his 
hands  through  his  hair,  and  glanced  at  his  uncle. 
When  he  caught  the  calm,  bright  gaze  with  which 
he  was  so  familiar,  he  asked,  "  How  long  have  I 
been  sitting  here  as  dumb  as  the  latest  exhumed 
mummy  ?  " 

"I  think  it  must  be  half  an  hour  since  you  last 
spoke  to  me." 

Ray  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  It  is  the  first  time  you 
could  have  said  it,  after  we  had  been  together  for 
that  length  of  time." 

In  a  moment  the  grave  look  was  in  his  face  again. 
"  What  curious  things  happen  in  this  world ! "  he 
said,  half  to  himself.  "If  we  read  of  them  in  a 
novel,  we  should  say  they  were  overdrawn  —  un- 
natural ! " 

"And  yet  surprises   are   the   rule,"   replied    the 


A    BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  35 

elder  man.  "  That  old  adage,  '  It  is  the  unexpected 
that  happens,'  is  always  proving  itself  true.  How, 
indeed,  can  it  be  otherwise,  in  this  huge,  changing 
drama  of  human  life?" 

"It  was  the  unexpected  that  happened  to  me 
to-day,  witli  a  vengeance  !  "  exclaimed  Ray,  still  half 
to  himself,  half  to  his  auditor. 

"  How  ?  "  Kenneth  Gathorpe  could  put  a  singular 
force  into  a  monosyllable.  People  frightened,  dazed, 
bewildered,  had  often  gone  to  him  for  counsel  or 
help  in  some  strait,  and  had  been  steadied  and  con- 
trolled by  a  word. 

During  the  next  ten  minutes,  Ray  related  the 
scene  which  had  occurred  on  his  leaving  the  library 
that  morning. 

His  uncle  listened  with  that  concentration  which 
he  always  gave  to  the  speaker  who  interested  him. 

"  It  is  a  pitiful  story,"  lie  said,  sadly,  when  Ray 
had  finished.  u  It  makes  the  world  seem  a  sadder 
place,  and  our  own  fortunate  share  in  it  not  quite 
the  fair  thing,  when  we  know  what  is  happening 
under  the  sun." 

"  I  shall  see  the  look  in  that  poor  fellow's  eyes  as 
long  as  I  live,"  continued  Ray.  "How  do  people 
get  into  such  horrible  straits,  I  wonder!" 

••The  misery  can,  as  a  rule,  be  traced  to  some- 
body's lack  of  brains  or  of  moral  fibre.  But,  if  that 
goes  far  to  explain  the  fact,  it  does  not  make  the 
suffering  less  easy  to  bear.  Certainly,  if  the  world 
were  what  it  ought  to  be,  what  I  believe  it  is  surely 
destined  to  become,  such  a  scene  could  never 
happen." 


36  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"There  seemed  an  awful  injustice  about  it,"  broke 
out  Ray  again,  in  an  impatient,  resentful  tone.  "  I 
had  a  curious  feeling,  in  that  fellow's  presence,  that 
I  ought  to  beg  his  pardon  ;  that  I  somehow  was 
responsible  for  his  suffering ,  that  my  own  good 
fortune,  ease,  luxury,  and  all  that,  were  a  wrong  and 
an  insult  to  him." 

A  glance  that  was  like  joy,  so  full  was  it  of  deep, 
solemn  approval,  flashed  from  under  the  black 
brows.  Ray,  with  his  eyes  on  the  flames,  did  not 
catch  the  look. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  his  uncle,  "  no  man  is  fit  for 
'good  fortune,  ease,  luxury,  and  all  that,'  unless  he 
often  has  the  feeling  you  have  owned  to." 

"All  I  have  to  say,  then,  is,"  replied  Ray,  with  a 
rather  grim  smile,  "  he  won't  be  likely  to  get  much 
comfort  out  of  his  better  luck.  I  know  mine  made 
me  feel  small  enough  this  morning!  But,  of  course, 
that  poor  young  fellow's  case  was  no  more  my  fault 
than  if  the  thing  had  happened  in  Jupiter." 

"  That  thought  has  often  to  be  one's  greatest  con- 
solation. But,  Ray,"  the  quiet  voice  deepened  to  a 
graver  key,  "it  will  be  your  fault,  when  it  is  too 
late  to  help  it,  if  you  do  not  guard  against  one 
thing." 

"  What  may  that  be,  Uncle  Ken  ?  " 

"  Don't  die  too  rich  !     Don't  dare  to  do  it,  Ray  !  " 

The  youth  was  used  to  his  uncle's  epigrammatic 
way  of  putting  things ;  but  this  speech,  or  the  tone 
of  it,  startled  him. 

"  Do  you  really  think  me  in  danger  of  doing 
that?"  he  asked,  half  amused,  half  serious. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  37 

"  I  have  been  fearing  it  for  the  last  few  days.  If 
you  should,  the  fault  would  lie,  perhaps,  chiefly  at 
my  own  door.  I  set  out  in  a  way  likely  to  spoil 
you.  But  you  had  a  good  start.  You  can  never 
rid  yourself  of  the  responsibility  that  fact  im- 
poses. Think  of  the  place  you  were. born  into;  of 
the  stanch  old  ancestry  that  lies  behind  you ;  of 
the  toils  and  struggles,  the  strong  conscience,  and 
high  moral  instincts,  that  have  gone  into  the  making 
of  yourself  and  your  lot  in  life." 

"  Uncle  Ken,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this 
talk  ? "  asked  Ray,  suddenly  turning  and  confront- 
ing his  uncle. 

"  The  meaning  is,  Ray  Gathorpe,  that  one  of  these 
days  you  will  be  my  heir ! " 

"  I  never  want  to  hear  you  say  that."  Ray  looked 
tenderly  at  the  snowy  head.  He  loved  and  admired 
the  man  sitting  there  more  than  he  did  anybody  in 
the  world. 

"  Did  you  suppose  I  was  going  to  live  forever,  you 
absurd  boy?  Can  you  look  at  these  white  hairs 
and  flatter  yourself  I  have  stumbled  on  the  fountain 
of  perpetual  youth  ?  Do  try  and  make  clear  to  your- 
self the  fact  that  I  am  an  old  man  ;  so  old  that  I  can 
remember, —  dim  and  vague  as  a  dream,  for  the  most 
part, — but  I  can  remember  faces  and  voices  of  the 
last  century." 

"  Everybody  says  you  do  not  look  your  age,  Uncle 
Ken  "  ;  there  was  a  kind  of  tender  reproach  in  Ray's 
voice.  "Despite  your  white  hairs  and  your  last- 
century  memories,  I  won't  believe  in  the  years.  I 
deny  and  defy  them.  You  are  as  young  as  the 


38  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

youngest  of  us  fellows.  Haven't  you  often  insisted 
to  me  that  youth  was  not  a  matter  of  birthdays  but 
of  temperament  ?  " 

"  So  it  is,  in  feeling ;  but  it  has  no  spell  that  can 
transmute  eighty  into  eighteen ;  and  I  am  so  close 
on  fourscore  that  I  know  the  clock  may  run  down 
at  any  time." 

"  If  you  please,  Uncle  Ken  —  " 

"  But,  Ray,"  said  his  uncle,  in  those  quiet,  master- 
ful tones  which  had  exercised  such  a  power  over 
others  all  his  life,  "  we  must  be  reasonable  people,  — 
you  and  I.  The  chances  are  that  you  will  have  to 
stand  alone  some  time  ;  and  if  it  should  come  sud- 
denly, you  would  be  -§orry  to  miss  any  words  of 
mine," 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Then  Ray  spoke  up, 
sharply,  "  Has  anything  been  happening  to  you, 
Uncle  Ken?" 

Again  there  was  a  little  pause.  The  red  flames 
shot  after  each  other  up  the  logs  in  tumultuous  glee. 
"  Nothing  alarming,  that  I  know  of,"  answered  the 
elder  man,  as  though  something  made  him  choose 
his  words  carefully.  "  I  should  hardly  have  minded 
the  thing  when  I  was  a  strapping  young  fellow  like 
you ;  but  at  my  time  of  life  trifles  are  often  signifi- 
cant." 

Was  it  the  words  or  the  quiet  voice  that  sent  a 
sudden  chill  to  Ray's  heart?  It  seemed  as  easy  to 
conceive  of  an  earthquake's  swallowing  the  conti- 
nent as  that  his  uncle  Ken  should  die.  The  man,  so 
strong  and  erect,  so  full  of  all  human  interests  and 
vital  energies,  so  much  more  alive  than  most  people 


A  BOSTON   GIEL'S   AMBITIONS.  39 

he  knew,  seemed  still  in  the  prime  of  his  years  to  his 
nephew.  Ray  did  not  answer  his  uncle ;  but  there 
was  something  in  his  eyes  which  made  the  elder  man 
hasten  to  say  :  "  Perhaps  it  is  not  worth  telling,  after 
all ;  but  we  will  make  no  mystery  of  it.  I  was  out 
on  the  piazza  last  week  for  my  usual  afternoon  walk. 
Something  suddenly  stopped  me.  I  cannot  describe 
it.  It  was  not  like  a  blow,  though  it  had  a  good 
deal  the  effect  of  one.  I  sat  or  sank  down  on  a 
lounging-chair  which  happened  to  be  at  hand.  I  felt 
no  oppression,  no  sensation  of  pain.  In  a  moment,  as 
I  thought,  I  was  on  my  feet  again.  Then  I  glanced 
at  the  clock  in  the  hall.  I  remember  seeing  it  as  I 
sat  down.  There  were  more  than  two  hours  I  could 
not  account  for." 

"Isn't  it  just  possible  you  dropped  off  into  a 
doze  ?  "  asked  Ray,  eagerly  catching  at  this  straw. 

"  In  that  sudden  way,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  walk ! 
There  is  no  disguising  the  truth ;  I  must  have  been 
unconscious  for  about  two  hours." 

*"  And  you  never  breathed  a  syllable  of  this  to  any 
of  us?" 

"  If  you  look  arid  speak  like  that,  you  will  make 
me  regret  having  done  so  now." 

"But  you  have  felt  no  bad  effects  from  this?" 
anxiously  persisted  Ray. 

"  Perhaps  not.  It  has  seemed  —  it  may,  after  all, 
be  a  mere  notion  —  that  my  heart  has  never  quite 
regained  its  old  steady  beat  since  that  afternoon." 

"  Have  you  consulted  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  I  did  that  at  once." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 


40  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  He  warned  me  to  be  careful  of  sustained  effort 
or  violent  exertion.  Pie  hoped  there,  was  nothing 
serious  in  my  attack.  My  ancestral  longevity  was  in 
my  favor.  Really,  I  was  no  wiser  when  I  parted 
with  the  famous  doctor." 

"But  you  believe  the  trouble — whatever  it  may 
be  —  was  with  your  heart?  " 

"  That  weakness  is  in  our  race.  My  mother  died 
of  heart-disease  when  I  was  younger  than  you." 

The  silence  fell  again.  The  red  tongues  of  flame 
lapped  the  great  logs,  and  the  brass  andirons  glittered 
in  the  blaze. 

At  last,  Ray  leaned  over,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
arm  of  his  uncle's  easy-chair ;  for  during  their  talk 
the  two  had  unconsciously  drawn  nearer  to  each 
other.  "Uncle  Ken,"  he  said,  his  tone  low  and  a 
good  deal  tremulous,  "  you  know  we  are  all  that  is 
left.  I  never  realized  what  the  other  losses  meant, 
they  came  so  early.  And  then  you  seemed  to  make 
up  for  all  that  was  gone.  But  without  you  —  well, 
it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how  life  could  go  on,  or 
that  it  would  be  worth  anything." 

"  Ah,  Ray,  what  a  commentary  such  words  are  on 
my  bringing-up  !  But  they  cannot  shake  my  faith  in 
you,  my  belief  in  the  man  you  will  prove,  in  the 
future  you  will  make." 

"You  ought  to  be  certain  of  the  stuff  that  has 
gone  to  the  making  of  a  fellow  before  you  set  such 
tremendous  hopes  on  him,"  replied  Ray,  rather 
grimly. 

"  My  faith  has  at  least  the  foundation  of  twenty 
years  intimate  knowledge  and  observation." 


A   BOSTON    GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  41 

"  At  all  events,  the  fault  won't  lie  at  your  door, 
Uncle  Ken,  if  I  sow  my  wild  oats — go  to  the  dogs." 

"I  should  feel  it  must,  if  I  feared  anything  of  that 
sort.  But  I  have  tried  to  give  you  the  right  start. 
From  the  time  that  you  came  to  me,  I  always  looked 
forward  to  leaving  you  some  day  with  the  burdens 
and  responsibilities  of  a  rich  man ;  but  I  find  that 
you  are  to  be  richer  than  I  supposed.  The  property, 
in  its  varied  forms,  has  grown  on  my  hands.  There 
have  been  shrinkages,  of  course,  in  investments,  and 
depressions  in  portions  of  the  real  estate,  but  of  late 
years  there  has  been  a  steady  current  of  prosperity. 
Many  things  have  doubled,  trebled,  their  values. 
You  will  be  so  rich  a  man,  Ray,  that  you  will  be  a 
great  debtor  to  the  world." 

Ray  drew  his  breath  with  a  sudden  sense  of  oppres- 
sion. He  sprang  up  and  stood  by  the  mantel,  his 
tall,  lithe  figure  drawn  to  its  full  height.  He  had 
that  day  gained  a  new  insight  into  the  meaning  of 
wealth.  His  careless,  happy  life,  the  large  place,  the 
good  fortune,  into  which  he  had  been  born,  had  some 
new  significance  for  him.  For  the  first  time,  the 
weight  of  varied  duties,  of  new,  coming  responsibili- 
ties weighed  heavily  on  his  young,  ardent  manhood. 

"  Uncle  Ken,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  that  was  any- 
thing but  gay  to  the  solitary  ear  that  heard  it,  "you 
almost  make  a  fellow  feel  that  it  would  be  easier  for 
him,  in  the  long  run,  to  be  born  in  the  slums.  Money, 
family,  culture,  a  grand  start  in  the  world  —  great 
heavens !  I  never  sa-w  the  thing  in  this  light  before." 

"Thank  the  heavens  that  they  have  sent  you  this 
light  now.  But  come,  Ray>  sit  down  here,  and  let  us 
talk  like  reasonable  men  for  a  while." 


42  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Ray  threw  himself  into  his  arm-chair  again.  For 
a  long  while  his  uncle  had  all  the  talking  to  himself, 
Ray  never  losing  a  syllable.  The  old  man  was  speak- 
ing of  his  will  and  of  matters  connected  with  it. 
There  were  numerous  bequests,  annuities,  legacies,  to 
persons,  public  institutions,  and  charities ;  all  the 
details  as  he  wished  them  carried  out  would  be 
found  fully  laid  down  in  the  will.  The  remainder 
of  the  property,  including  the  Gathorpe  estate,  was 
to  revert  to  Ray. 

After  his  uncle  had  dwelt  on  all  these  matters,  he 
continued :  "  The  largest  personal  bequest  I  have 
made  is  to  the  heirs  —  if  they  are  living  —  of  a  man 
of  whom  you  have  never  heard,  and  yet,  had  it  not 
been  for  him,  I  should  not  be  here  to-night." 

"  You  would  not  ?  "    Ray  spoke  at  last. 

"  No ;  for  he  saved  my  life  twenty-five  years  ago, 
saved  it  at  the  risk  —  what  seemed,  at  the  time,  the 
certain  loss  —  of  his  own." 

"Uncle  Ken,  why  did  you  never  tell  me  of  this?" 

"  I  always  meant  to ;  but  the  right  time  seemed 
never  to  come.  Then  I  am  constitutionally  averse  to 
speaking  of  what  most  intimately  concerns  me. 
That  was  like  my  father.  Curious,  how  this  heredity 
crops  out ! " 

This  last  remark  was  in  a  low,  absent  tone. 

"  Uncle  Ken,"  exclaimed  Ray,  "  I  want  to  hear 
about  this  man  who  saved  your  life." 

"  It  is  too  late  to  begin  that,  Ray.  It  is  an  exciting 
tale.  We  must  take  another  evening  for  it." 

The  tones  had  some  repressed  weariness. 

Ray   glanced   at   the   small  French  clock  on  the 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  43 

mantel.  He  was  amazed  to  find  that  it  was  past 
midnight.  He  would  gladly  have  sat  on  until  dawn, 
listening  to  the  elder  man's  talk ;  but  for  almost  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  realized  that  his  uncle  had 
not  the  vigor  of  young  manhood,  which  makes  so 
light  of  every  fresh  expense  of  time  and  strength.' 

Yet  it  was  with  something  of  an  effort  that  he 
rose,  saying :  "  I  see  it  is  high  time  that  we  go  to  our 
beds.  It  isn't  often  the  Fates  permit  us  an  evening 
like  this  alone  together." 

They  turned  and  looked  at  each  other,  for  the 
elder  man  had  risen  too.  A  tender  light  crept  into 
his  eyes,  as  they  rested  on  the  face  of  the  youth  who 
bore  his  name,  and  was  so  soon  to  take  his  place  as 
the  owner  of  Bylanes.  He  laid  his  hand  on  his 
nephew's  shoulder.  "  My  dear  boy,  Ray,"  he  said. 

"  My  dear  old  Uncle   Ken,"  answered  Ray  ;   and 

for  a  moment  he  too  stood  still,  looking  at  his  uncle, 

and  feeling  in  some  deeper,  more  intimate  sense  than 

he  ever  had  done  before,  all  that  the  man  was  to  him 

—  all  that  he  had  been  from  the  beginning. 

And  all  this  was  in  Ray's  eyes,  and  his  uncle  read 
it  there. 

The  noble  white  head  and  the  brown  one,  that, 
even  at  rest,  seemed  alert  with  youth  and  its  pride 
and  strength,  made  a  grouping  that  would  have 
haunted  a  poet  for  days,  if  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  it. 

Then  the  two  separated. 

And  the  great  leaping  flames  had  dropped  into  a 
heap  of  red  coals,  around  which  a  bordering  of  gray 
ashes  was  slowly  gathering. 


IV. 

CARRYL  and  Dorrice  Dacres  were  sitting  together 
in  the  tenement-house  attic.  It  was  now  four  days 
since  the  meeting  with  Ray  Gathorpe  had  brought 
about  such  a  change  in  their  fortunes.  It  was  even- 
ing, and  a  kerosene  lamp  was  burning  on  the  table. 
The  light  softened  the  bareness  and  shabbiness  of  the 
room,  and  revealed  the  change  which  had  come  over 
the  faces  of  its  inmates.  It  was  wonderful  what 
those  four  days  of  ample  food  and  reviving  hope  had 
done  for  the  young  people.  Dorrice's  lips  had 
regained  their  color,  and  a  soft  pink  often  crept  into 
her  cheeks  when  she  spoke.  Her  brother's  face  had 
lost  its  dark  pallor,  and  the  great  black  eyes  held  no 
longer  the  look  of  some  hunted,  despairing  creature. 

"  Carryl,"  said  Dorrice,  suddenly  leaning  forward 
from  the  corner  of  the  lounge,  where  she  was  sitting, 
with  a  light  shawl  thrown  around  her  shoulders,  and 
slipping  her  hand  in  her  brother's,  "you  and  I  have 
had  four  such  happy  days !  " 

Carryl  sat  near  his  sister,  in  a  rickety  arm-chair. 
He  looked  down  on  the  bright,  delicate  face,  with 
something  in  his  own  to  which  the  history  of  the 
last  week  could  alone  have  furnished  a  clew. 

"  Yes  i  they  have  been  happy,"  he  said,  fervently. 
"  I  think  you  and  I,  Dorrice,  will  always  have  a 

44 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  45 

notion  how  people  feel  when  they  first  come  out  of 
prison." 

Dorrice  drew  a  long  breath.  A  swift  shiver  went 
over  the  slight  frame.  "It  was  dreadful,"  she  said, 
in  a  low,  half-scared  voice.  "  I  don't  dare  to  think 
about  those  last  two  days !  " 

This  was  her  first  allusion  to  them  since  she  had 
broken  her  fast.  She  had  resolutely  put  that  terrible 
time  behind  her  until  she  could  look  back  on  it 
through  a  vista  of  changed,  brightened  life. 

Carryl  had  understood  her  feeling  and  shared  it. 
But  now  he  turned  suddenly  and  looked  his  sister 
sternly  in  the  eyes.  "Dorrice  Dacres,"  he  said, 
"you  told  me  a  lie  !  " 

Her  lids  drooped,  her  cheek  flamed,  but  in  an 
instant  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  him,  half  defiant,  half 
pleading  "I  did  not  say  there  was  any  more, 
Carryl,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  stress  of  em- 
phasis on  the  verb. 

"  But  you  made  me  believe  part  of  the  loaf  was 
left,  when  I  ate  that  last  slice.  If  you  had  died,  that 
remembrance  would  have  finished  me,  if  the  starving 
hadn't  done  it !  " 

"  You  had  to  be  out  on  the  street,"  said  the  soft, 
pleading,  but  not  weak  voice  —  if  it  had  been  this 
last,  it  would  never  have  spoken  such  words.  "  You 
needed  the  food  more  than  I,  who  stayed  at  home." 

"  I  knew  that  was  the  way  you  argued  it  out  to 
yourself.  And  I  was  such  a  stolid  ass  I  didn't  see, 
and  bolted  the  bread ! "  he  continued,  his  tone  cruelly 
remorseful. 

Dorrice  leaned  forward  with  that  little  air  of  ma- 


46  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

ternity  which  sat  so  oddly  on  her  sixteen  years. 
"Dear,  don't  let's  talk  about  it  any  more,"  she  said. 
"We  must  learn  to  put  all  that  where  it  belongs 
now  —  behind  us." 

"How  is  a  fellow  to  put  behind  him  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  has  been  infernally  selfish?  " 

"  Carryl  Dacres,  I  will  not  listen  if  you  talk  like 
that.  There  was  110  selfishness  in  it.  You  simply 
did  not  know." 

"And  ought  to!  Does  that  make  the  case  any 
better  for  me  ?  " 

"I  won't  hear  another  syllable,"  putting  her  fingers 
to  her  ears  playfully. 

But  not  long  afterward  she  was  saying,  very 
gravely,  "  Carryl,  people  are  always  wiser  after  they 
have  been  through  —  things.  We  must  never  get 
down  into  that  depth  again." 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "     She  felt  him  shudder. 

"  Heaven  will,  if  we  do  our  part,  Carryl,"  turn- 
ing her  face,  so  that  all  its  young  earnestness  was 
brought  full  upon  him.  "  We  must  make  up  our 
minds  now  what  we  will  do  before  this  money  is 
all  gone." 

"  I  see  that  as  clearly  as  you." 

"The  money  seemed  so  large  at  first !"  her  serious 
tone  in  odd  contrast  with  the  girlish  lines  of  the 
lips.  "  But  stretch  and  scrape  as  we  may,  it  cannot 
hold  out  much  longer." 

"  No  ;  not  even  you  can  make  it  do  that !  " 

"The  next  month's  rent,"  she  continued,  as  though 
the  matter  had  been  gone  over  many  times  in  her 
own  mind,  "won't  be  due  for  almost-  two  weeks. 


A   BOSTON    GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  47 

You  know  we  had  to  pay  in  advance,  and  it  was 
doing  that  the  last  time  which  brought  us  to  such  a 
pass.  Bat  we  are  sure  of  a  roof  over  our  heads  for 
the  next  twelve  days.  If  you  don't  get  any  place  by 
that  time,  Carryl  —  " 

"You  know  I  keep  on  trying  from  morning  till 
night,"  he  broke  in,  springing  to  his  feet,  and  ner- 
vously pacing  the  room.  "But  it  seems  a  fool's 
chase.  The  market  is  overcrowded.  Then,  I'm 
not  one  of  your  big,  burly  fellows  that  look  as 
though  I  could  handle  heavy  weights  and  go  into 
rough  work.  They  glance  me  over,  and  make  up 
their  minds  in  a  flash  that  my  muscle  isn't  the  stuff 
for  their  business.  Of  course,  the  other  places,  where 
a  little  brains  might  tell,  are  all  filled  up.*  When  it 
comes  to  those,  a  fellow  needs  a  friend  at  court." 

"  Well,  Carryl,"  interposed  again  the  clear  young 
contralto,  "you  can  keep  on  trying  a  little  longer, 
so  that,  if  all  fails,  you  can  make  sure  it  was  not 
your  fault.  But  if,  at  the  end  of  another  week, 
nothing  has  happened,  we  must  —  do  something 
else." 

Carryl  understood  perfectly  what  the  last  words 
meant,  and  why  the  speech  suddenly  swerved  aside, 
and  came  to  so  lame  and  impotent  a  conclusion. 
He  turned,  lowered  the  wick  slightly,  for  the  kero- 
sene-lamp was  smoking;  then  he  stood  still  before 
her,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  bitter  tone,  "  What  a 
fool  I  was !  " 

"  What  fools  we  were  !  "  she  flashed  back  at  him. 

"You  were  only  fifteen,  and  a  girl!  " 

"  You  were  only  seventeen  and  a  boy  !     No  doubt, 


48  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

in  years  —  and,  of  course,  you  believe,  in  sex  —  you 
had  the  advantage  of  me  !  " 

He  smiled.  A  smile  always  made  a  real  brightness 
in  his  dark,  serious  face ;  yet,  when  he  spoke,  his 
tone  was  anything  but  an  amused  one.  u  My  years 
or  my  sex  proved  of  little  advantage  when  the  pinch 
came!  Oh,  Dorrice  !  "  he  broke  out,  in  an  impatient, 
remorseful  tone,  "  what  a  wild  flight  it  was !  What 
babes  in  the  woods  we  were  !  " 

"  I  see  all  that  now,  Carryl." 

The  ice  was  broken.  It  was  easy  to  talk  after- 
ward. In  a  little  while,  Dorrice  was  saying,  with 
her  gravest  air,  uWe  have  learned  something  that 
will  last  us  all  our  lives,  Carryl !  " 

"  But  at  what  a  price  !  " 

"  I  know ;  but  people  have  to  pay  prices  for  their 
knowledge  in  this  world.  Carryl,  if  you  don't  get 
anything  to  do  by  another  week,  we  must  go  back 
to  Foxlow." 

She  brought  out  the  last  word  steadily,  but  it  was 
with  an  effort,  and  she  looked  doubtfully,  anxiously, 
in  his  face. 

"I  —  I  see  that  we  must,  Dorrice  !  " 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  It  was  evident  that  a 
great  weight  slipped  off  her  soul  with  his  reply. 

In  a  moment  she  continued,  with  great  animation, 
"  We  shall  go  at  once  to  Deacon  Spinner's.  Whatever 
the  silence  means,  you  and  I  will  find  our  old  wel- 
come under  that  roof.  You  would  have  time  to  look 
about  for  something  to  do,  without  fearing  it  would 
lead  in  Foxlow  to  what  it  has  in  Boston.  Even  if 
it  came  to  our  being  apart  for  a  little  while  —  '  her 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  49 

voice  faltered  and  then  steadied  itself,  "well,  we 
could  see  each  other  every  day  or  two.  I  might  get 
a  little  sewing,  or  take  care  of  children,  and  before 
long  —  if  I  can  only  manage  to  look  old  and  sedate 
enough  —  I  could  set  up  an  infant-school.  Then  I 
should  be  in  a  seventh  heaven  !  Oh,  Carryl ! "  she 
burst  out  in  a  changed  tone,  "  we  have  each  other ; 
we  will  be  brave ;  we  shall  pull  through  !  " 

He  seized  the  warm  little  hands,  that  suddenly 
reached  themselves  out  to  him.  The  courage  that 
shone  responsive  in  his  dark  young  face  gave  it  a  fresh 
manliness. 

"I  believe  you,  Dorrice,"  he  said.  "We  will  be 
brave  ;  we  shall  pull  through !  " 

So  the  brother  and  sister  held  up  each  other's 
courage.  And,  meanwhile,  the  money  which  had 
dropped  into  their  utmost  need,  almost  as  though  it 
had  fallen  from  the  heavens,  was  slowly  dwindling, 
and  nothing  happened  —  nobody  came. 

They  said  little  about  him ;  but  Carryl  and  Dorrice 
were  always  on  the  lookout  for  the  stranger  who 
had  befriended  them.  During  the  days  when  her 
brother  was  away,  pacing  the  streets  on  his  fruitless 
quest  for  employment,  Dorrice's  little  quick  ears 
were  on  the  alert,  and  her  cheek  would  flush  and 
her  heart  bound,  whenever  she  caught  a  quick  step 
on  the  landing.  But  it  never  paused  at  the  door. 
The  tall,  splendid  youth  —  whom  Carryl  had  painted 
in  such  a  way  that  he  had  taken  possession  of  Dor- 
rice's  imagination,  until  he  seemed  like  the  grand 
hero  of  one  of  her  childhood's  story-books  —  never 
appeared  at  the  attic  doorway.  • 


50  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

A  week  went  by,  bringing  no  change.  The  finances 
were  dwindling  rapidly  to  a  sum  barely  sufficient  to 
pay  their  fare  to  Foxlow. 

The  memory  of  all  they  had  passed  through  had 
burned  itself  too  deeply  into  heart  and  brain,  for 
either  to  dream  of  drawing  on  their  last  resource 
while  they  remained  in  the  city.  The  return  to 
Foxlow  in  their  present  straits  was  not  agreeable, 
but  it  was  infinitely  pleasanter  than  staying  to  face 
starvation  again  in  Boston. 

One  morning,  Carryl  said  to  his  sister,  "  This  will 
be  our  last  day,  Dorrice !  If  I  haven't  found  any- 
thing when  I  return  to-night,  I  shall  give  up  the 
search.  We  will  leave  to-morrow." 

"  We  must,  Carryl !  If  we  stay  another  day,  there 
will  not  be  money  to  take  us  back." 

Carryl  strode  about  the  room  with  a  moody  face. 
"  It  won't  be  altogether  disagreeable  to  take  leave  of 
our  sky-parlor.  We  sha'n't  be  likely  to  forget  some 
scenes  which  these  old  walls  have  witnessed." 

"No;  we  sha'n't  forget,"  echoed  Dorrice,  softly. 

"The  mystery  of  Deacon  Spinner's  silence  will 
be  cleared  up  now ! "  he  went  on,  in  a  rather  bright- 
ening tone.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  see  his  old  face,  and 
his  little  apple-cheeked  wife's.  I  knew  perfectly  well 
that  he  never  approved  of  our  mad  flight  to  the 
city.  But  I  thought  he  was  old  and  slow  and  poky. 
Yes,  the  conceit  has  been  well  taken  out  of  me ! 
Perhaps  the  old  man  will  be  able  to  put  me  on  the 
track  of  some  work.  If  everything  fails,  I  can 
turn  chore-boy.  We  cannot  afford  to  be  proud, 
Dorrice." 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  51 

"  Yes,  we  can,"  she  answered,  with  a  swift  bridling 
of  her  small  brown  head.  "  We  shall  never  do  any- 
thing to  disgrace  ourselves.  You  are  too  proud  to 
feel  you  would  do  that,  Carry  1  Dacres,  by  turning 
chore-boy." 

"Perhaps  I  am.  But  a  fellow  can't  be  sure  of 
feeling  precisely  as  he  ought,  when  it  comes  to  the 
test  Whether  my  future  destiny  is  that  of  chore- 
boy  or  not,  I  own  to  an  ignoble  dread  of  facing 
some  questions  which  I  foresee ;  and  of  knowing 
that  my  admissions  must  prove  me  an  unmitigated 
fool.  If  ever  a  fellow  fairly  earned  the  old  mot- 
ley—  the  cap  and  bells  —  it's  the  one  who  has  the 
honor  to  stand  before  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  Carryl,"  looking  at  him  reproachfully, 
"why  will  you  go  on  in  that  strain,  when  you 
know  it  hurts  me?" 

"Then  I  will  shut  up.  Only  when  I  think  how 
we  set  off  for  the  city,  our  small  heads  full  of  the 
absurdest  hopes  and  dreams,  and  how  we  are  going 
back — well,  I  suppose  we  must  make  up  our  minds 
to  let  this  lost  year  slide ! "  and  he  tried  to  whistle 
a  tune  —  not  very  successfully. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  lost  years,"  said  Dorrice.  "  It 
is  people's  own  fault  if  they  have  them.  We  shall 
be  wiser  and  better  for  what  we  have  been  through 
together.  You  and  I  are  not  going  to  let  it  prove  a 
lost  year,  Carryl." 

With  that  she  went  up  to  him,  put  her  arms 
jT'fMmd  his  neck,  and  kissed  him.  She  did  not  do 
this  so  often  that  it  had  grown  into  a  habit  with 
either  of  them. 


52  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

And  with  that  kiss  on  his  lips,  and  those  words  in 
his  soul,  Canyl  Dacres  went  out  to  search  a  last 
time  for  some  work  in  Boston. 

But  that  day  —  something  happened  ! 


V, 

LESS  than  three  hours  after  he  left  his  sister, 
Carry  1  returned.  When  he  burst  open  the  door, 
when  lie  bounded  into  the  room,  where  Dorrice  had 
begun  to  pack  their  scant  wardrobe  for  to-morrow's 
journey,  she  knew  that  some  good  fortune  had  be- 
fallen Mm. 

Before  she  could  speak,  he  seized  her  in  his  arms, 
and  whirled  her  about  the  room  as  though  she  had 
been  a  baby:  "•  Dorrice,  little  woman,"  he  shouted, 
"  I  have  found  a  place  !  Do  you  hear  that  ?  I  have 
found  a  place  !  " 

Then  he  set  her  down  and  stood  looking  at  her 
with  a  face  of  exultant  happiness  ! 

"  Oh,  Carryl !  "  It  was  a  low,  breathless  cry,  so 
tremulous  for  joy  that  you  might  have  mistaken  it 
for  pain. 

Then  again,  for  half  a  minute,  they  stood  still,  gaz- 
ing at  each  other. 

"  But  I  want  to  know,  Carryl ! "  said  Dorrice,  at 
last. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  'did  know.  Carryl  had 
gone  out  with  hardly  a  glimmer  of  hope  that  morn- 
ing. It  seemed  like  a  grim  farce,  going  over  the 
same  old  rounds  that  he  had  gone  for  months, 
making  applications  in  all  sorts  of  likety  and  un- 

53 


54  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

likely  places.  Indeed,  Carryl  had  a  secret  convic- 
tion that,  had  it  not  been  for  Dorrice,  he  should  not 
have  left  the  house  at  all.  He  could  understand 
now  how  a  commander  feels  about  surrendering  the 
fort  —  though  his  last  hope  has  vanished  —  so  long 
as  there  is  a  gun  to  be  fired. 

"  And  to-day  I  am  firing  my  last  gun ! "  Carryl 
told  himself  as  he  moved  along  the  noisy,  crowded 
streets.  It  was  no  wonder  that  wild  scheme  of 
coming  to  Boston  to  seek  their  fortunes,  without  a 
single  friend  in  the  big,  strange  Babel,  had  come  to 
such  grief  as  this  !  But  the  dark  chapter  was  draw- 
ing to  its  end;  and  to-morrow  he  and  Dorrice 
would  go  back  to  Foxlow  with  the  story  of  their 
failure,  and  see  what  life  would  open  to  them  — 

Into  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  came  a  sudden 
shout,  the  thunder  of  heavy  wheels,  the  thud  oi 
horses'  feet.  Carryl,  crossing  the  street  at  that  mo- 
ment, looked  up  to  see  a  great,  lumbering  ex- 
press-wagon close  on  him.  The  big  horses  had  taken 
fright,  and  were  dashing  madly  down  the  street, 
without  their  driver.  As  Carryl  darted  out  of  their 
path,  his  glance  fell  on  a  small  child,  who  stood 
directly  in  the  way  of  the  frightened  beasts.  An  in- 
stant more,  and  plunging  hoofs  and  grinding  wheels 
would  have  gone  over  the  dazed,  helpless  creature. 

It  was  all  done  in  a  flash.  There  was  no  time  for 
thought,  but,  with  one  wild,  overmastering  im- 
pulse, Carryl  sprang  forward,  caught  the  boy, 
swung  him  clear  of  the  plunging  hoofs,  and  darted 
back  with  him  to  the  sidewalk.  Noi.  a  hair  of  the 
round,  curly  head  had  been  harmed. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  55 

Carryl  was  trembling  with  his  desperate  effort, 
and  his  bare  escape  —  for  the  wheels  had  grazed  one 
ankle  —  when  he  stumbled  against  something  soft. 
A  wild  cry  —  half  of  joy,  half  of  terror  —  rang  in  his 
ears  ;  the  frightened  child  was  snatched  from  his 
arms ;  he  heard  the  sobbing  of  a  woman,  and  he 
knew  that  he  had  saved  her  boy's  life. 

When  he  turned  to  look  at  her,  he  saw  a  lady, 
young,  graceful,  handsomely  dressed.  A  gentleman 
in  his  prime,  with  a  shrewd  face  and  heavy  side- 
whiskers,  had  leaped  too  late  from  the  curbstone, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  boy,  who  had  trotted 
unobserved  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  during  the 
few  moments  that  his  parents  had  been  talking  on 
the  sidewalk. 

"Oh,  Ned,  he  has  saved  Tom's  life!"  exclaimed 
the  mother,  as  she  hugged  her  child,  and  clung  to  its 
father. 

"  You  risked  your  life  to  do  it  too,  young  man  !  " 
said  the  gentleman,  grasping  Carryl's  hand. 

"There  was  no  time  to  think  about  that,  sir,"  he 
answered. 

At  this  point  there  was  a  second  outcry  from 
Dorrice. 

"  But  I  didn't  get  a  scratch,  you  see,"  said  Carryl, 
quite  forgetting  his  ankle.  "  Come,  now,  for  a  sensi- 
ble girl  to  get  pale  like  that  over  an  if!  " 

The  story  was  soon  resumed.  The  scene  had  hap- 
pened near  the  junction  of  Milk  and  Devonshire 
streets.  A  good  many  people  had  witnessed  it.  A 
crowd  gathered  and  stared,  and  then  there  was  some 
huzzaing  for  Carryl.  The  gentleman's  office  was 


56  .  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

only  a  few  blocks  off.  He  begged  Carryl  to  go  with 
them ;  while  his  wife  continued  to  pour  out  her 
thanks,  with  wet  eyes  and  quivering  lips. 

The  nerves  of  the  four  had  been  a  good  deal 
shaken,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  get  away  from  the 
crowd  and  roar  of  the  great  business  thoroughfare, 
into  the  handsome  private  office,  where  Carryl  soon 
found  himself.  Tom,  by  this  time,  was  getting  over 
his  fright ;  he  had  roared  loudly  at  one  time ;  but 
now  he  only  sobbed  occasionally,  and  stared  with 
big,  solemn  eyes  from  one  face  to  another ;  he  was  a 
beautiful  child,  three  years  old. 

His  father  wrung  Carryl's  hand  again ;  his  keen 
gaze  going  over  the  stranger  who  had  just  rescued 
his  boy  from  a  horrible  death.  He  saw  the  shabby 
shoes,  the  seedy  clothes;  his  first  impulse  was  to 
present  the  youth  with  a  reward  in  the  shape  of  a 
handsome  sum  of  money. 

But  when  the  gaze  returned  to  Carryl's  face,  the 
man's  impulse  wavered.  "  Young  man,  will  you  tell 
me  if  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  serve  you  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  If  you  will  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  some 
employment,  you  will  do  me  the  greatest  favor  in 
the  world,"  Carryl  replied. 

His  wife,  while  she  was  passionately  hugging 
Tom,  had  been  listening  to  every  word.  She  broke 
in  here,  "  Oh,  Ned,  you  remember  what  you  said  at 
breakfast,  about  getting  somebody  to  fill  Warren's 
place  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  remember,  Emmeline,"  and  now  another  gaze 
went  over  Carryl.  The  sharp,  incisive  gaze  of  the 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  57 

business  man,  that  measured  him  from  another  stand- 
point than  that  of  the  grateful  father  whose  boy's 
life  had  just  been  saved.  "The  position  is  one 
which  requires  some  experience,"  he  said,  in  a  differ- 
ent tone,  "  and  some  one  who  is  absolutely  trust- 
worthy, as  the  firm  will  often  have  important 
matters  to  place  in  his  hands.  To  whom  can  you 
refer  me  ?  " 

"  To  nobody  in  the  city,"  replied  Carryl.  "  I  am 
a  stranger  here.  But  I  will  do  my  best,  sir,  if  you 
will  give  me  a  trial." 

"  Yes,  Ned ;  you  can't  do  less  than  that,"  eagerly 
interposed  the  wife.  "  As  for  references,  I  am  sure 
he  has  just  afforded  you  the  best  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Hallowell  smiled  rather  gravely  at  this  re- 
mark. "That  is  a  woman's  reasoning,  Emmeline," 
he  said;  "but  it  isn't  business." 

"  I  don't  care  what  it  is !  "  she  exclaimed,  with 
feminine  vehemence.  "  Where  would  Tom  be  this 
blessed  minute  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him?"  and  she 
fell  to  hugging  her  boy  again. 

Mr.  Hallowell  turned  to  Carryl  once  more,  who 
had  a  feeling  that  his  fate  was  hanging  in  the 
balance. 

"You  have  had  no  experience  in  business  of  this 
sort,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  said. 

"Not  the  slightest,  sir,"  replied  Carryl,  still  with- 
out an  inkling  of  what  the  business  was.  "But  he 
who  reaches  the  top  of  the  ladder  has  sometime  to 
begin  at  the  lowest  rung." 

"  The  fellow  knows  how  to  make  pat  replies,  as 
well  as  to  risk  his  neck  to  save  another!"  thought 


58  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Mr.  Hallowell.  He  liked  the  young  man's  face  as  he 
regarded  it  more  closely.  It  had  a  bright,  honest 
expression,  while  its  delicate  lines  gave  the  shabby 
clothes  a  pathos,  which,  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, the  prosperous  business  man,  —  the  head  of 
the  large  shipping  firm  of  Hallowell,  Howth,  and 
Company,  —  would  not  have  been  likely  to  notice. 

"  My  partners  will  have  something  to  say  in  this 
matter,"  continued  Mr.  Hallowell,  turning  to  his 
wife.  "  They  won't  regard  it  as  we  do,  from  the 
point  of  sentiment." 

"But  your  influence  can  turn  the  scale,  —  you 
know  that  perfectly,  Ned.  Give  him  a  chance  for 
Tom's  sake ! "  And  as  though  these  words  had  given 
her  a  new  idea,  the  lady  turned  suddenly  to  Tom, 
whispered  something  very  earnestly  two  or  three 
times  in  his  ear ;  and  then  led  him  up  to  his  father, 
where  he  stood  at  the  man's  knee,  a  lovely  picture 
of  dimpled,  rosy  childhood. 

"  Now  say  it,"  exclaimed  his  mother. 

"  Dib  him  a  tance,  papa !  "  piped  the  pretty  so- 
prano, the  cheeks  puffing  out,  and  getting  red  with 
the  effort  it  cost  to  achieve  this  sentence.  Then 
Tom  turned  and  looked  at  his  mother,  his  round 
little  face  aglow  with  triumph.  His  three  auditors 
burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  You  see,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Hallowell,  tun> 
ing  to  Carryl,  "  what  forces  you  have  arrayed  on  }-our 
side  !  It  is  useless  for  me  to  attempt  to  resist  them, 
when  I  remember  what  a  debt  you  have  laid  me 
under.  I  am  going  to  take  Tom's  advice  and  give 
you  the  chance.  You  shall  have  a  month's  trial. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  59 

Be  on  hand  to-morrow  morning  by  eight  o'clock, 
and  we  will  give  you  — "  here  Mr.  Hallowell 
glanced  at  the  shabby  clothes,  "  well  —  twelve 
dollars  a  week  for  the  first  month,  and,  if  we  keep 
on,  something  better." 

Carryl  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  He  turned 
to  Mrs.  Hallowell.  She  thought  she  should  never 
forget  the  look  in  that  boy's  eyes.  But  she  only 
lifted  Tom  and  held  him  up  to  kiss  Carryl. 

Mr.  Hallowell  thought  the  young  fellow  knew 
where  his  thanks  were  due.  He  certainly  would  not 
have  stepped  so  easily  into  that  berth,  had  not  his 
wife  pleaded  his  case  so  urgently.  But  Mrs.  Hallo- 
well  did  not  understand  quite  so  well  as  her  hus- 
band what  a  position  had  opened  to  Carryl,  and 
that  it  was  one  which  many  a  rich  man  would 
gladly  have  secured  for  his  son. 

The  sky  was  gray  and  wan  overhead ;  and  gusts 
of  the  chilly  November  wind  were  rattling  the 
blinds  of  the  old  tenement  house,  as  Carryl  Dacres 
related  the  morning's  story  to  his  sister.  But  had 
the  sun  shone  in  cloudless  summer  skies,  and  all  the 
birds  of  the  forest  filled  the  air  with  their  singing, 
the  day  could  not  have  seemed  brighter,  nor  its 
sounds  been  sweeter  to  the  two. 

And  this  day,  they  remembered,  was  to  have  been 
their  last  in  Boston. 


VI. 

IT  was  more  than  a  week  before  the  uncle  and 
nephew  sat  alone  again  at  evening  in  the  breakfast- 
room  at  Bylanes.  There  had  been  a  constant  influx 
of  guests  during  these  last  days.  The  Gathorpe 
mansion  kept  up  its  ancient  traditions  of  hospitality; 
and  people  from  all  quarters  of  the  world  crossed  its 
threshold,  to  gain  their  first  impressions  of  America 
amid  such  agreeable  surroundings.  Ray  had  had  a 
busy  week  with  his  company,  amongst  whom  were 
some  bright  young  English  people,  —  fellows  from 
Oxford,  with  their  sisters,  —  out  on  a  brief  visit  to 
the  States. 

Outside,  a  wild  November  storm  was  holding  its 
way.  Fierce  blasts  swept  the  air,  and  blinding 
sheets  of  rain  lashed  the  windows.  Inside,  a  great 
blaze  swirled,  and  shot  up  the  big-mouthed  chimney. 
Little  tongues  of  fire  darted  out  and  lapped  the  fore- 
sticks.  The  tall  brass  andirons,  the  burnished  fen- 
der, glittered  in  the  flames. 

"  Whew !  just  hear  that  wind,  will  you  ? "  ex- 
claimed Ray,  as  a  blast  thundered  at  the  windows. 
"  If  this  sort  of  weather  holds  on  to-morrow,  I  sha'n't 
enjoy  running  down  to  Boston,  even  for  the  special 
business  I  have  in  hand." 

"  I  hope,  whatever  this  business  may  be,  it  is  not 
60 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  61 

such  a  life-and-death  matter  that  it  can't  wait  until 
day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Ray's  uncle,  laying  down 
his  paper,  and  removing  his  glasses. 

Ray  fancied  there  was  a  touch  of  satire  in  this 
speech ;  he  always  enjoyed  detecting  that  in  his 
uncle's  talk.  The  two  were  much  given  to  badger- 
ing each  other,  in  the  half-earnest,  half-playful  way 
which  grows  out  of  the  closest  sympathy  and  trust. 

The  young  man  raised  his  eyebrows.  "You  are 
right,  Uncle  Ken ;  my  business  is  not  a  life-and- 
death  matter  —  to  myself" 

The  little  pause,  the  stress  on  the  pronoun,  gave 
significance  to  the  close  of  this  speech. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  it  is  to  anybody  else," 
continued  his  uncle,  as  he  leaned  forward,  seized  the 
tongs,  and  replaced  one  of  the  sticks,  which  had 
fallen  out  of  the  pyramidal  line. 

"  That  depends,  perhaps,  on  how  well  forty  dollars 
have  held  out.  They  seem  to  me  a  wretchedly 
slender  outpost  against  starvation." 

For  a  moment  his  uncle's  inquiring  look  showed 
he  did  not  catch  the  drift  of  this  speech.  Then  he 
said  :  "  Ah,  yes !  I  see  what  you  mean,  Ray.  You 
have  found  no  time,  then,  to  look  that  matter  up?" 

"Absolutely  none.  This  last  onset  of  company 
hasn't  allowed  a  fellow  many  half-hours  for  his  own 
affairs.  I  had  Bylanes  to  show  up  pretty  thoroughly, 
of  course.  I  have  been  to  Boston  three  times  ;  but 
it  was  always  in  the  r61e  of  escort  and  chief  man- 
ager of  a  party  of  very  curious  and  critical  young 
English  folk.  I  played  the  host — showed  the  lions,  to 
the  best  of  my  capacity,  with  a  pleasant  conviction 


62  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

that  my  charge  were  all  the  time  secretly  drawing 
comparisons,  immensely  in  favor  of  their  own  coun- 
try and  its  institutions." 

His  uncle's  eyes  twinkled.  "Of  course,"  he  said; 
"we  all  do  that  when  we  are  over  there  for  the  first 
time." 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  thin-skinned!  The  sense  of  supe- 
riority, whenever  it  cropped  out,  was  so  sublimely 
unconscious,  too !  But  the  fellows,  in  spite  of  cer- 
tain British  prejudices,  were  gentlemanly  and  agree- 
able, and  the  girls  pretty  and  accomplished.  I 
enjoyed  my  role  ;  but  I  should  have  liked  vastly  to 
run  off  and  do  a  stroke  of  business  on  my  own 
account." 

His  uncle  thought  the  stroke  of  business  would 
have  done  the  young  man's  heart  credit ;  but  he  only 
asked,  "  What  kind  of  plans  have  you  formed  for 
this  young  prote'ge'  of  yours,  if  he  turns  out  what 
you  believe  him  ?  " 

"  Uncle  Ken,"  said  Ray,  hotly,  "  I  would  answer 
for  that  young  fellow's  honesty  with  my  life  !  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  had  no  intention  of  chilling  your 
sympathy  with  an  old  man's  caution.  I  have  often 
thought  of  the  pitiful  story,  though  we  seemed  to 
have  no  time  to  recur  to  it.  There  is  no  reason,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  why  the  tale  should  not  be 
true.  As  sad,  as  unlikely,  events  happen  every 
day." 

"If  they  do,"  answered  Ray,  grimly,  "this  insignifi- 
cant part  of  the  solar  system  is  a  most  uncomfortable 
place  for  some  of  its  population.  I  certainly  hoped 
this  case  was,  in  many  of  its  aspects,  a  solitary  one.'' 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  63 

"  We  will  treat  it  now  as  though  it  were,"  replied 
the  elder  man.  "  What  are  your  plans,  I  venture 
to  ask  again,  for  the  young  fellow,  when  you  hunt 
him  up  ?  Of  course,  if  he  is  the  right  sort  of  stuff, 
he  is  not  going  to  depend  on  you  long  for  his 
future." 

"  He  isn't  the  kind  of  fellow  to  whom  it  will  be 
easy  to  offer  money  a  second  time.  He  has  got  to 
take  it,  though,"  added  Ray,  very  decidedly,  "if  he 
needs  it.  Of  course,  he  will  want  to  fight  his  own 
battle,  as  soon  as  he  gets  breath  and  standing-room. 
I  have  thought  all  that  out." 

"  To  what  conclusion  ?  " 

Ray  turned  squarely  on  his  uncle.  "  That  is  just 
the  point  where  you  can  step  in  and  help  him  better 
than  I." 

"In  what  way?" 

"A  line  from  you  to  almost  any  one  of  your  profes- 
sional or  business  friends  in  Boston  will  secure  him 
a  berth  somewhere,  either  in  a  business  house,  or  a 
lawyer's  or  broker's  office.  Of  course,  he  must  take 
a  low  place  and  small  wages  at  the  beginning.  But 
that  isn't  the  question  ;  the  place  is  the  thing." 

"  But  you  forget,  Ray,  that  I  am  wholly  ignorant 
of  this  young  man's  character  and  capacity  ;  I  am 
unable  to  vouch  for  either." 

"  I  see  all  that.  Of  course  it  is  impossible  for  you 
to  assume  the  slightest  responsibility.  But  you  have 
many  a  friend  who  will,  for  your  sake,  be  ready  to 
give  the  young  fellow  a  trial." 

"  I  perceive  you  can  be  practical  enough  when 
your  sympathies  are  thoroughly  aroused." 


64  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"Which  means  when  it  comes  to  other  people's 
affairs !  That,  at  least,  ought  to  be  presumptive  evi- 
dence that  I  can  manage  my  own,  on  occasion.  But, 
Uncle  Ken,  you  see  what  an  immense  service  it  is  in 
your  power  to  do  this  poor  fellow." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  And  that  means  you  will ! "  The  tone  made 
this  speech  less  a  question  than  a  confident  asser- 
tion. 

The  elder  man  reflected  a  moment,  then  he 
answered  :  "  One  doesn't  like  to  set  about  a  thing  of 
this  sort  in  the  dark.  You  want  to  know  something 
of  your  young  fellow's  likings  and  aptitudes.  Find 
out  what  kind  of  place  he  wants,  and  then  —  come 
to  me." 

Ray  knew  it  was  all  settled  then.  "  Thank  you, 
Uncle  Ken,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  with  which  he 
never  thanked  him  for  any  personal  favor,  because 
all  that  he  regarded  as  a  matter  of  course.  "  I  mean 
to  bring  him  up  to  By  lanes  one  of  these  days,  and 
prove  to  you  that  my  instinct  was  not  at  fault." 

"  I  don't  remember  that  you  told  me  his  name." 

"  I  can't  do  that  at  this  moment.  I  scrawled  down 
his  address  before  we  parted ;  it  is  in  my  drawer,  up- 
stairs." 

In  these  few  moments'  talk,  the  future  of  Carryl 
Dacres  seemed  to  become,  between  the  old  man  and 
the  young  one,  a  settled  thing. 

The  storm  increased.  "  Old  Boreas  is  booming 
to-night !  "  exclaimed  Ray,  as  he  listened  to  the  roar- 
ing of  the  wind,  the  rattling  of  the  rain.  "  If  this 
keeps  on,  we  shall  have  the  storm  of  the  season." 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS,  65 

"It  must  be  terribly  rough  off  the  coast.  I  have 
weathered  too  many  storms  at  sea  not  to  think  of  the 
sailors  on  such  a  night,"  said  the  elder  man. 

Ray  sat  still  a  while,  in  his  warm,  soft  nest,  listen- 
ing to  the  tumult  outside.  His  uncle  sat  still,  too. 
The  red  fire-light  flickered  about  the  noble  head,  the 
snowy  beard,  the  strong,  fine  face.  In  a  little  while 
he  ceased  to  hear  the  storm.  His  thoughts  slipped 
easily  into  the  past ;  they  wandered  among  fa  •  days 
and  scenes  that  were  close  and  vivid  in  Kenneth 
Gathorpe's  memory.  He  heard  voices  that  dulled 
the  roar  of  the  wind,  and  saw  visions  that  quite  shut 
out  that  warm,  bright  interior,  and  the  proud  young 
face  opposite  him." 

Kenneth  Gathorpe  had  had  a  remarkable  life. 
Among  his  earliest  memories  was  one  of  a  day  when 
he  played  on  a  grassy  slope,  in  front  of  his  home, 
and  his  father  came  out  on  the  small,  steep-roofed, 
slender-pillared  portico,  and  called  to  him.  A  min- 
ute later,  he  held  the  child  on  his  knee,  and,  as  they 
sat  on  the  broad  bench,  in  the  shadow  of  the  portico, 
he  told  the  boy,  in  solemn,  faltering  tones,  that 
George  Washington  was  dead.  Kenneth  Gathorpe 
had  never  forgotten  that  moment,  nor  the  look  in  his 
father's  face. 

Another  of  those  early  recollections  was  one  of 
sad-faced,  foreign-looking  men  and  women,  who  sat 
at  his  father's  hearth  and  board.  These  strangers 
were  the  exiles  the  French  Revolution  had  driven  to 
our  shores.  They  found  their  way  to  Bylanes, 
because  its  owner  had,  in  happier  days,  been  the 
guest  of  some  of  them,  his  business  connections  hav- 


66  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

ing  for  years  caused  Kenneth's  father  to  reside 
in  France.  Many  scenes  of  the  terrible  tragedy  that 
shook  a  continent  had  been  gone  over  in  the  low- 
studded,  ancient  house  which  occupied  the  site  of 
the  present  mansion.  Kenneth,  with  his  grave, 
childish  face,  sat  in  a  corner,  and  drank  in  some  of 
the  most  terrible  stories  of  that  time,  told  oftenest 
in  broken  English,  but  with  tones  and  gestures 
which  made  the  whole  a  wonderfully  vivid  drama. 
In  that  low-ceiled  New  England  parlor  he  had  heard 
the  roll  of  the  tumbrels  through  the  pleasant  Paris 
streets,  and  he  had  seen  the  white,  sad  faces  of  the 
victims  on  their  way  to  the  guillotine. 

These  things  had  made  a  lasting  impression  on 
the  boy's  young  heart  and  imagination.  The  man 
had  often  been  heard  to  declare  he  could  never  get 
over  a  feeling  that  he  had  lived  through  the  French 
Revolution. 

In  later  years,  it  had  been  Kenneth  Gathorpe's 
fortune  to  see  many  lands,  to  mingle  much  with  men 
of  different  nationalities,  to  live  a  crowded  and 
eventful  life. 

The  business  which  he  had  inherited  from  his 
father  had  made  it  important  that  he  should  spend 
much  time  abroad.  He  had  felt  a  profound  interest 
in  the  politics  of  Europe,  while  his  avowed  liberal 
sympathies  had  made  him  the  friend  of  the  great 
leaders  of  progress,  both  on  the  continent  and  in 
England. 

For  the  instinct  of  freedom  was  in  the  Gathorpe 
blood.  Kenneth  was  brought  up  on  traditions  of  the 
American  Revolution,  in  which  his  ancestors  had 


A   BOSTON    GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  67 

borne  a  heroic  part.  In  his  youth  he  had  spent  many 
hours  with  Lafayette,  and  talked  with  Jefferson  and 
the  elder  Adams.  His  memory  was  a  precious  store- 
house, crowded  with  historic  events  and  personages, 
and  was  one  of  his  strong  attractions  to  scholars  and 
statesmen.  It  was  delightful  to  listen  to  the  talk  of 
the  large-brained,  sweet-natured  old  man,  when  it 
was  illuminated  by  swift,  graphic  pictures  of  the 
great  historic  scenes  of  the  century. 

Kenneth  Gathorpe  had  been  an  eye-witness  to 
some  of  these  ;  for  he  was  in  France  during  that  ter- 
rible July  which  saw  the  fall  of  a  throne  and  the 
flight  of  the  Bourbons.  A  little  later  he  watched, 
with  the  keenest  sympathy,  the  passage  of  that 
Reform  Bill,  which  shook  England  like  an  earth- 
quake. He  was  in  Paris  again  when  the  House  of 
Orleans  forfeited  the  realm  it  had  won  so  easily ;  and 
he  was  there  a  little  later,  when  Louis  Napoleon 
waded  to  crown  and  throne  through  the  horrors  of 
the  coup  d'etat. 

But,  even  in  his  young  days,  when  Kenneth  Ga- 
thorpe's  blood  beat  highest  with  hope  for  humanity, 
and  the  way  seemed  easy  for  other  nations  to  rise 
up,  as  his  own  had  done,  and  make  prompt,  short 
work  with  their  oppressors,  the  centripetal  forces 
of  his  temperament  always  held  him  to  his  own 
orbit.  This  fact  was  a  standing  joke  between  Ray 
and  his  uncle.  "  You  would  have  been  a  Round- 
head in  Oliver  Cromwell's  time,  Uncle  Ken  —  no 
question  of  that.  You  would  have  rushed  with  the 
bravest  of  those  old  fellows  on  the  Cavaliers  at 
Naseby  and  Marston  Moor ;  a  century  and  a  half 


68  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

later,  you  would  have  gone  serenely  to  the  guillotine 
with  the  Girondists  !  But,  when  it  came  to  cropped 
hair  or  red  cap,  I  don't  feel  like  answering  for  you. 
Somehow,  you  always  do  draw  a  line  just  inside  of 
radicalism." 

The  old  man  was  ready  with  an  unanswerable  re- 
joinder. But  he  felt,  at  the  same  time,  that  Ray's 
metaphorical  line  had  expressed  a  truth;  and  he 
sometimes  questioned  with  himself  how  much  its 
existence  was  owing  to  temperament,  and  how  much 
to  the  experience  of  life. 

A  thought  flashed  across  Ray.  He  turned  sud- 
denly to  speak  to  his  uncle,  and  then,  catching  the 
look  on  the  old  man's  face,  checked  himself.  He 
knew  the  light  of  days  which  had  never  risen  on  him 
was  bright  in  the  elder's  memory. 

So  Ray  sat  still,  and  the  red  blaze  hummed  and 
leaped  before  him,  and,  outside,  wind  and  rain  harried 
the  earth  and  air. 

At  last  the  elder  Gathorpe  looked  up  and  met  a 
bright,  rather  amused  gaze. 

He  laughed.  "  We  have  been  sitting  here  as  mo- 
tionless as  two  old  monoliths." 

"Yes;  I  saw  you  had  taken  to  reminiscencing, 
and  I  wouldn't  interrupt  you." 

"You  are  very  considerate,  Ray.  But  you  had 
something  to  ask  me  ?  " 

"  The  last  night  we  sat  here  alone  together,  you 
promised  to  tell  me  something." 

"  Really,  I  have  forgotten." 

"  It  was  about  the  man  who  saved  your  life,  whom 
you  have  remembered  in  your  will." 


A   BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  69 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  his  eyes  bright  as  youth 
under  the  beetling  brows :  "  I  remember." 

"  This  is  just  the  sort  of  night  to  tell  me  the 
story.  I  have  been  listening  to  that  high  old  wind 
outside,  until  it  has  grown  to  be  the  cry  of  some 
infinite  tragedy.  You  and  I  are  sure  of  an  evening 
alone  together,  which  is  rather  of  a  rarity.  Uncle 
Ken,  I  want  to  hear  about  this  man,  and  what  he 
did  for  you." 

"It  all  happened  twenty-eight  years  ago,  some 
time  before  you  had  your  first  peep  of  daylight. 
Yet  it  seems,  curiously,  as  though  it  all  must  have 
taken  place  yesterday." 

He  paused  a  moment.  Ray  did  not  speak ;  he 
knew  the  time,  the  place,  the  event  of  which  he  was 
so  eager  to  hear,  had  started  up  in  his  uncle's  mem- 
ory, and  that  speech  —  strong  and  vivid  —  would 
speedily  follow. 

"  I  was  in  California  for  the  first  time,"  resumed 
the  old  man.  "That  was  when  I  made  a  voyage 
around  the  world,  and  returned  home  across  the  con- 
tinent. My  visit  to  the  Pacific  coast,  however,  was 
largely  one  of  business,  which  took  me  among  the 
mountains  of  the  coast  range,  and  into  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Sierras.  Of  course,  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  hard  riding  and  tough  work  about  the  jour- 
ney ;  but,  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  I  was  still 
elastic  enough  not  to  mind  that.  Then,  what  a  won- 
derful life  it  was !  It  made  me  feel  like  a  boy  again ! 
The  sky,  with  its  steady  blue  glare,  not  blurred  by  a 
faint  breath  of  cloud ;  the  dry,  warm,  delicious  air, 
that  made  sleeping  out-of-doors  such  a  delight ;  the 


70  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIONS. 

silence  and  immensity  of  the  plains ;  the  valleys, 
lovely  as  gardens  of  Eden,  with  their  infinite  verd- 
ure, and  their  seas  of  dazzling  bloom ;  the  great 
mountains,  solemn,  mysterious,  implacable,  their 
flanks  thick-wooded  with  pine  and  cedar,  their  far- 
away, snow-crowned  summits  ghostlike  in  the  deep 
blue  heaven,  —  ah,  that  wonderful  world,  —  that 
wide,  free,  exultant  life,  —  it  makes  every  drop  of 
my  old  blood  tingle  to  think  of  it ! " 

"  It  makes  every  drop  of  my  young  blood  tingle  to 
hear  of  it,"  interposed  Ray.  "  I  must  have  a  taste 
of  it  too,  sometime  !  " 

"  Of  course  you  must.  But  there's  time,  Ray,  my 
boy  —  there's  time  enough." 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  added  Ray,  bent  on  ignoring 
some  meaning  that  the  quiet  tones  did  not  mask. 
"  There  is  no  magnet  in  this  world  powerful  enough 
to  draw  me  away  from  Bylanes ;  so  you  need  not 
flatter  yourself  with  any  hope  of  getting  rid  of  me 
for  the  next  cycle." 

The  old  man  smiled  on  his  nephew,  a  smile  that 
gave  to  the  strong,  keen  face  something  of  the 
grace  and  tenderness  of  a  woman's. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  talk.  "  But  wonderful 
as  the  world  was  on  that  old  Pacific  coast,  it  seemed 
the  grand,  fitting  stage  for  the  human  life  going  on 
there.  This,  as  always,  was  the  supreme  interest. 
It  was  a  life  full  of  strong,  rough,  elemental  passions. 
It  brought  a  man's  real  quality  to  the  surface.  The 
restraints  and  disguises  of  civilization  had  been 
largely  left  behind,  in  other  atmospheres,  on  another 
coast.  Everything  here  had  new  values  and  stand- 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  71 

ards.  Deeds,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  were,  like  the 
country,  on  a  gigantic  scale.  Character  showed 
itself  in  stronger  lines.  Crime  was  coarser  and 
blacker,  had  a  reckless,  dare-devil  boldness  about  it ; 
and  all  generosities,  nobleness,  virtues,  were  finer, 
sweeter,  more  luminous,  amid  the  temptations  that 
surrounded  them." 

"  What  a  huge  drama  it  must  have  been  through 
all  those  years !  "  exclaimed  Ra)r,  when  his  uncle 
paused  again.  "  The  tragedy  and  the  comedy  would 
be  likely  to  get  mightily  mixed  up,  though !  " 

"  Yes ;  I  saw  plenty  of  the  comedy ;  had  my  own 
share  in  it,  too.  But  one  time,  as  was  not  unlikely 
to  be  the  case  with  any  man  in  those  days,  some  of 
the  tragedy  fell  to  my  r81e." 


VII. 

THE  clock  struck.  The  chimes  rang  like  a  peal 
of  soft  laughter  into  the  silence.  The  flock  of  sweet 
sounds  had  hardly  died  away,  and  the  low  ticking 
begun  again,  when  Ray  heard  his  uncle's  voice. 

"  One  night,  I  was  on  my  return  from  Monterey, 
the  old  Spanish  capital,  where  I  had  been  passing  a 
few  days.  I  came  suddenly  on  a  camp,  among  the 
Sierra  foot-hills,  not  many  miles  from  Sonora. 

"The  camp  was  largely  composed  of  muleteers, 
Mexicans,  frontiersmen.  As  I  emerged  from  the  trail 
in  the  pines,  I  caught  sight  of  the  groups,  seated  on 
their  blankets,  or  stretched  around  the  camp-fire, 
with  jugs  of  whiskey  and  packs  of  cards  lying  loose 
around.  As  they  turned  their  heads,  or  raised  them- 
selves on  their  elbows,  to  stare  at  me,  I  felt,  for  the 
moment,  that  I  had  stumbled  on  some  old  gypsy 
encampment,  like  those  I  had  seen  in  southern 
Europe.  There  was  the  same  rich,  dark  coloring; 
there  were  the  same  sombre  shadows,  and  wonder- 
fully picturesque  grouping.  The  red  fire-light  flashed 
over  big,  swarthy  limbs,  over  hard,  fierce  faces.  But 
it  struck  me  that  I  had  never  come  across,  even  in 
those  regions,  a  set  of  more  thoroughgoing  despera- 
does, unless  their  looks  greatly  belied  them. 

72 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  73 

"As  I  rode  up  on  my  jaded  beast,  I  remember 
saying  to  myself,  '  You  are  a  set  of  precious  rascals, 
no  doubt;  but,  at  all  events,  you  are  picturesque.' 

"  The  men,  however,  gave  me  the  rough  welcome 
of  camp  and  wilderness,  and  I  learned  that  they  had 
lately  dropped  down  at  that  point,  to  work  a  new 
claim  in.  Red  Stone  Gulch,  a  mile  off.  The  camp 
was  not  a  week  old ;  the  men  were  still  fired  with 
enthusiasm  over  the  new  find  ;  the  canon  was  already 
torn  with  shafts  and  seamed  with  ditches,  in  that 
first  frenzy  for  gold  with  which  the  roving  miner 
sets  himself  to  work  on  a  new  claim. 

"  My  intercourse  with  the  camp  did  not  tend  to 
ameliorate  my  first  impressions  of  its  character. 
Some  of  the  roughest  and  worst  elements  of  the 
mining  community  had  drifted  to  Red  Stone  Gulch. 
Coarse  songs,  loud  oaths,  odors  of  vile  whiskey  and 
cheap  tobacco,  formed  the  principal  features  of  the 
next  two  hours.  I  was  eager  to  push  up  the  rough 
mountain-trail,  to  a  point  where,  twelve  miles  off,  I 
was  to  intercept  the  stage,  and  some  friends,  who 
were  to  return  east  with  me.  I  secured  a  fresh 
beast  for  the  ride.  While  I  was  bargaining  with  its 
Mexican  owner,  several  men,  rough-bearded,  with 
heavy,  lowering  faces,  hung  about,  drinking  in  the 
talk.  Of  each  of  these  might  be  said  what  Gonzalo 
did  of  his  boatswain  :  — 

"  '  His  complexion  is  perfect  gallows.' 

"When  the  owner  hurried  off  to  fetch  his  mustang, 
my  glance  happened  to  fall  on  a  figure,  a  few  rods  off, 
seated  on  a  ragged  boulder,  at  the  foot  of  an  immense 


74  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

pine.  At  that  instant,  some  red  rays  of  sunset  struck 
the  bent  shoulders,  the  shrunken  limbs,  and  quivered 
over  the  thin,  livid  cheeks.  The  man  sitting  there, 
and  staring  at  rne  with  bright,  hollow  eyes,  had  but  a 
few  days  to  live.  Tt  was  a  pitiful  sight;  all  the  sur- 
roundings lent  it  an  added  pathos.  I  went  up  to  the 
poor  fellow,  spoke  to  him,  and  in  a  moment  he  hud 
launched  into  his  story.  It  was  the  familiar  one  of 
that  latitude,  a  tale  of  wild  hopes  and  bitter  hard- 
ships, and  cruel  disappointments  and  wrongs.  But 
the  poor  fellow  expected  to  be  well  in  a  short  time, 
and  his  last  days  were  gilded,  and  his  sufferings 
lightened,  by  visions  of  future  good  fortune.  I  see 
now  how  his  livid  cheek  flushed  and  his  hollow 
eyes  fired  as  he  talked. 

"  Before  he  had  finished,  the  Mexican  brought  up 
my  horse.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  spare.  I 
said  the  kind  words  that  came  first,  drew  the  blanket 
about  the  man's  shoulder,  thrust  some  gold  into  his 
hand,  and  hurried  off. 

"  As  I  turned  away,  I  perceived  that  the  men  who 
had  overheard  my  talk  with  the  Mexican,  had  drawn 
closer,  and  watched  this  interview.  I  caught  a  gleam 
of  evil  eyes,  in  hard,  sullen  faces.  But  at  that  in- 
stant a  stranger,  standing  a  little  apart  from  the 
group  of  heavy,  lounging  figures,  drew  my  attention  ; 
he  was  a  young,  rather  slenderly  built  man,  with  a 
countenance  singularly  fine  and  frank,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  sombrero;  his  bright,  dark  eyes,  as 
they  met  mine,  were  alive  with  interest ;  his  whole 
appearance,  thrown  into  bolder  relief  by  the  group- 
ing about  him,  so  impressed  me  that  I  should  cer- 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  75 

tainly  have  spoken  to  him,  had  moments  been  less 
precious.  But  I  resisted  the  impulse,  mounted  my 
horse,  plunged  into  the  rough  mountain-trail ;  and 
soon  the  camp-fire,  with  all  its  rich  coloring  and 
motley  characters,  lay  far  behind  me. 

"It  was  hard  climbing,  even  for  my  sure-footed 
little  mustang.  The  steep,  narrow  trail  grew  so  dim 
among  the  thick  pines  that  I  was  in  constant  danger 
of  losing  it.  It  was  a  glorious  night  in  September, 
with  a  full  harvest  moon  overhead.  When  I  burst 
into  an  open,  or  spurred  out  on  some  rocky  ledge,  I 
saw  the  moonlight  silvering  the  pines,  and  shining 
on  the  rough,  gaunt  walls  of  some  canon  that  lay  far 
below  me.  I  rode  through  the  rocky  wilderness  for 
more  than  an  hour,  when  I  suddenly  caught  a  sound 
behind  me.  I  thought  it  was  the  stealthy  tread  of 
some  wild  beast  in  the  underbrush,  and  seized  my 
rifle.  An  instant  later,  I  heard  the  flying  of  a  horse's 
hoofs.  Before  I  could  move,  the  animal  dashed 
abreast  of  me,  a  hand  seized  my  bridle ;  I  lifted 
my  rifle  —  just  then  the  moon  shone  through  the 
branches,  and  the  light  struck  the  sombrero,  and  the 
face  beneath  was  the  young  man's  who  had  watched 
me  at  the  camp.  But  he  was  white  now,  and  his 
great  black  eyes,  as  they  met  mine,  were  full  of 
alarmed  warning. 

"  I  knew  some  peril  was  at  hand.  But  before  I 
could  speak,  he  broke  out  in  a  low,  hurried  voice, 
'Don't  enter  the  canon  when  you  come  to  it,  a  few 
rods  on  your  left.  Take  the  road  to  your  right.  It 
is  a  rough  way,  but  it  will  bring  you  out  on  the 
stage  road  at  last.' 


76  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  *  But  what  has  brought  you  here  to  warn  me  ? ' 
I  asked,  sure,  in  a  flash,  there  was  some  foul  play  at 
bottom. 

" '  The  men  at  the  camp,'  broke  out  the  low,  rapid 
voice  again,  '  are  on  your  track !  I  overheard  their 
talk.  They  have  sworn  to  have  your  money,  and 
they  won't  have  a  scruple  about  taking  your  life !  I 
got  the  start  of  the  villains,  and  rode  hard  to  over- 
take you.  They  mean  to  wait  for  you  on  the  trail 
that  runs  along  the  ledge.  If  you  enter  that  canon, 
you  are  a  dead  man.' 

"'Give  me  your  hand,'  I  said.  I  had  no  more 
doubt  of  the  story  than  if  he  had  been  my  best 
friend. 

"  But  his  palm  had  barely  touched  mine  when  we 
caught  a  sound  behind  us,  swift  and  muffled  ;  it  was 
not  the  soft  rustle  of  winds  in  the  pines,  it  was  not 
the  stealthy  tread  of  wild  beasts  in  the  underbrush ; 
it  was  the  men  on  my  track,  seeking  my  life ! 

"  There  was  not  time  for  another  word.  My  friend 
wheeled  his  horse  around,  while  I  plunged  into  the 
deep  trail  on  my  right. 

"  It  was  hard  work  afterward  for  my  tough  little 
beast ;  but  she  bent  bravely  to  it.  As  we  struggled 
along  through  the  dim,  half-overgrown  trail,  or 
crossed  some  moonbeam  that  lay  —  a  great  silver 
bolt  —  among  the  black  shadows,  I  listened  —  every 
nerve  strung,  every  sense  alert  —  for  any  sound  from 
the  long,  deep  canon  on  my  left.  The  sharp  crash  of 
of  a  rifle  broke  suddenly  into  the  dead  stillness  ;  the 
echoes,  far  and  near,  flung  it  back ;  then  there  was  a 
loud  yell  of  fright  and  agony,  a  groan  and  crash  of 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  77 

branches,  under  some  heavy  falling  body,  all  followed 
by  loud  shouts  and  fierce  oaths. 

"  I  was  sure  some  terrible  accident  had  happened. 
A  stray  shot  might  have  struck  one  of  my  pursuers. 
But  there  was  no  time  for  speculation.  The  next 
two  hours  were  a  life-and-death  struggle,  getting 
over  that  half-choked  trail  in  the  rocky  wilderness 
of  the  Sierra  foot-hills !  My  poor  horse  stood  still 
at  times,  and  actually  snorted  and  shivered  with 
fear.  No  ghost  of  a  moonbeam  could  pierce  the 
thick  ceiling  of  the  trees  overhead.  As  we  slipped 
into  some  deep  ditch,  or  struggled  on  some  nar- 
row, broken  ledge  of  rock,  I  said  to  myself  that 
the  highwayman's  shot  would  have  been  preferable 
to  the  mass  of  broken  bones  I  threatened  to  be  with 
every  plunge  of  my  quivering,  snorting  beast.  But 
the  end  came  at  last,  when  panting  horse  and  rider 
struggled  out  from  the  wilderness  to  the  highway. 
That  long,  straight  belt  of  yellow  sand  in  the  moon- 
light, was  the  most  welcome  sight  my  eyes  ever 
beheld.  I  spurred  the  mustang  ahead,  fearing  I 
might  lose  the  stage.  I  had  not,  however,  gone 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  when  something 
burst  through  the  dense  woods  on  my  left,  and  I  saw 
the  sombrero,  and,  under  it,  the  dark,  handsome  face 
of  the  young  stranger. 

"I  drew  rein.  He  wheeled  his  horse  abreast  of 
mine.  '  Thank  God  you  have  come  out  safe  and 
sound,'  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that  was  full  of  a 
great  relief  and  gladness. 

"  Not  a  bone  broken,  you  see,"  I  answered  as  I 
sprang  from  my  horse,  and  the  stranger  followed 
me. 


78  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  '  I  knew  it  was  a  break-neck  trail,'  he  continued, 
" '  especially  for  one  who  went  over  it  the  first  time. 
But  it  was  your  only  chance.  I  have  been  searching 
the  woods  for  the  last  hour.  I  was  getting  very 
anxious.' 

"  As  I  repeat  the  words  now,  I  hear  the  manly 
tones,  through  which  rang  a  kind  of  repressed  exul- 
tation. I  hear  them,  as  though  the  speaker  were  in 
this  room  to-night,  instead  of  out  there  on  the  lonely 
moonlit  highway  among  the  Sierra  foot-hills,  twenty- 
eight  years  ago. 

"I  inquired  about  the  shot  in  the  ravine.  The 
answer  proved  my  suspicions  correct.  One  of  the 
ruffians  had  raised  his  weapon  to  shoot.  He  must 
have  handled  it  carelessly  in  his  haste,  for  it  had 
gone  off  and  wounded  him,  perhaps  fatally.  He  had 
dropped  into  the  ravine,  from  the  narrow,  jutting 
ledge  along  which  the  upper  trail  ran.  The  men 
had  posted  themselves  here  to  wait  for  me.  The 
shot  had  demoralized  the  gang.  They  rushed  shout- 
ing and  swearing  down  the  canon  to  their  wounded 
comrade.  '  Whether  the  shot  finished  him  or  not,' 
the  young  man  concluded,  'you  are  safe  from  as 
precious  a  set  of  rascals  as  were  ever  bent  on  having 
a  man's  life.' 

"  '  And  I  owe  it  to  you  that  I  stand  here  to- 
night with  nothing  worse  than  a  few  bruises,  and  a 
scratched  skin,'  I  said. 

" '  I  did  what  I  could  for  you,'  he  answered,  and 
his  black  eyes,  full  of  bright  exultation,  looked  into 
mine. 

" '  But  what  made  you  do  it? '  I  persisted. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  79 

" '  Well ;  what  if  you  struck  me  as  a  man  worth 
saving  ?  ' 

" '  As  to  that  —  you  certainly  had  no  chance  to 
form  an  opinion.' 

"'I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  answered,  'I  saw  what 
you  did  for  that  poor  fellow  who  was  dying  in  the 
camp.'  , 

"  '  Was  it  that  ? ' 

" '  It  was  that,  and  —  if  you  will  have  it  —  some- 
thing in  your  voice  and  face  which  made  me  anxious 
to  serve  you.' 

" '  My  dear  young  fellow/  It  was  all  I  could  say 
at  that  moment,  but  I  placed  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  wished  that  he  had  been  my  own  son. 

"  Perhaps  he  read  the  wish  in  my  face,  for  there 
was  a  flash  of  pleasure  in  his  eyes,  and  of  something 
infinitely  deeper  than  that.  In  a  few  moments,  I 
was  asking  him  how  he  got  a  clew  to  the  murderous 
plot. 

"  '  I  saw  the  men  lounging  round  and  watching 
you,  as  you  drew  the  gold  from  your  pocket ;  I 
caught  the  look  shot  after  you  from  more  than  one 
pair  of  evil  eyes,  as  you  mounted  your  mustang.  I 
have  keen  ears  :  I  heard  one  of  the  ruffians  say  to 
his  comrades,  "  I  swear  the  dog  has  money  enough 
about  him  to  make  it  worth  our  while  to  spot  him." 
I  knew  then  they  meant  mischief.  They  were  a  set 
of  the  worst  desperadoes  in  the  camp,  and  bad  luck 
of  late  had  made  them  dangerous.  If  they  set  out 
on  your  trail,  the  chances  were  you  would  not  see 
the  sunrise.  But  I  had  the  fleetest  horse  in  camp. 
I  knew  the  road  too,  thoroughly,  as  I  had  been  pros- 


80  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

pecting  about  here  for  the  last  fortnight.  I  took  a 
shorter  cut,  and  came  out  ahead  of  the  gang.' 

"  He  went  through  this  recital  in  a  light,  joyous 
kind  of  tone,  as  though  the  whole  matter  was  —  so 
far  as  it  concerned  himself  —  a  trivial  one. 

" '  But  it  appears  you  ran  some  risk  yourself.  If 
the  villains  had  found  you  — ' 

" '  In  that  case,  I  should  unquestionably  have  re- 
ceived some  cold  lead  ! '  he  interrupted. 

"  *  You  were  within  earshot,  it  appears,  and  heard 
what  happened  when  the  rifle  went  off.  Did  you 
follow  the  ruffians  after  you  left  me  ?  ' 

"  There  was  a  curious  flash  in  his  eyes.  Almost 
before  I  was  conscious  of  it,  it  had  gone,  and  he  was 
regarding  me  with  his  bright,  serious  gaze.  There 
was  a  brief  pause  before  he  said,  quietly,  '  Oh,  yes  ! 
I  kept  within  earshot  of  the  gang.  I  —  was  resolved 
to  see  the  thing  out.' 

"  This  reply  was  the  most  natural  in  the  world ; 
yet  I  found  myself  listening,  as  a  man  does,  half  un- 
consciously, for  some  deeper  meaning  than  the  words 
carried  on  their  surface.  Was  it  my  fancy  that  they 
did  not  hold  all  the  truth?  Some  vague  doubt  or 
curiosity  suddenly  crystallized  into  this  question. 
We  stood  there  on  the  yellow  strip  of  highway,  in 
the  moonlit  midnight,  looking  steadily  into  each 
other's  eyes.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  shade  of 
defiance  crept  slowly  into  the  young  man's  face,  as 
though  he  dared  me  to  penetrate  some  mystery 
which  concerned  us  both. 

"  It  came  over  me  in  a  flash.  The  next  moment  I 
had  gripped  his  arms.  '  Did  you  go  down  into  that 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  81 

cafion?'  I  asked.  'Were 'you  there  when  the  rifle 
went  off?' 

"  He  turned  on  me  with  a  good  deal  of  fierceness. 
'I  suppose  a  man  has  a  right  not  to  answer  those 
questions  if  he  doesn't  see  fit,'  he  said,  grimly. 

"I  dropped  his  arms.  I  stood  perfectly  still. 
'  Did  you  go  down  into  that  cafion,  meaning  the 
men  should  take  you  for  me  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  I  tell  you  you  have  no  right  to  ask  me  such 
questions ! '  His  face  flushed  angrily ;  he  looked  at 
me  like  a  man  driven  to  bay. 

"  I  drew  close  to  him  ;  his  breath  touched  my 
cheek.  '  But  I  will  be  answered  ! '  I  said. 

"He  glanced  at  his  horse.  I  saw  he  was  half 
minded  to  mount  him,  and  be  off  in  a  flash  —  it 
was  easy  doing  it  too  ',  but  his  gaze  came  back  to  my 
f aoe  —  I  don't  know  to  this  day  what  he  saw  there, 
but  I  did  know  the  precise  moment  when  his  will 
faltered.  A  little  later,  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  an 
awkward  fingering  of  his  short  black  beard,  and  a 
few  broken  sentences,  as  though  it  were  all  some- 
thing he  ought  to  feel  ashamed  of,  I  plucked  out  the 
heart  of  the  mystery.  That  young  fellow,  Ray  — 
he  really  looked  hardly  older  than  you  —  had  gone 
down  into  the  canon  that  night,  believing  he  was 
going  to  his  death,  sure  of  what  would  be  lying  in 
wait  for  him  on  the  upper  trail,  knowing  that  the 
villains  had  sworn  to  have  my  life,  and  that  they 
must  to  a  dead  certainty  take  him  for  myself  I  " 

"  Oh,  great  God  in  Heaven!  "  exclaimed  Ray,  lean- 
ing forward,  with  white  lips. 

"Yes,  Ray,"  —  the  deep,  steady  tones  broke  now 


82  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

—  "  he  was  ready  —  that  stranger  —  to  give  his  life 
in  the  flower  of  its  young  manhood  for  me  —  a  man 
whom  he  had  never  seen  for  half  an  hour  —  whose 
name,  even,  he  did  not  know !  " 

"It  was  superb  —  it  was  the  grandest  deed  I  ever 
heard  of ! "  cried  Ray,  springing  up  and  striding 
about  the  room,  his  soul  aglow  with  the  excitement 
which  the  story  of  a  noble  deed  always  kindles  in  a 
generous  nature. 

Then  he  paused  by  his  uncle's  chair,  his  tall  figure 
towering  over  it.  When  his  uncle  looked  up,  he 
met  something  in  the  bright  young  gaze  he  had 
never  seen  there  before. 


VIII. 

A  FEW  moments  later,  Ray  had  thrown  himself 
down  in  his  chair  again. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?  "  asked  his  uncle,  more  to  relieve 
the  tension  of  the  moment  than  anything  else. 

"  Go  on !  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  let  anything 
less  than  the  crack  of  doom  stop  you !  " 

The  calm,  deep  voice  resumed  again  :  "  Just  after 
my  friend  and  I  had  parted  in  the  woods,  and  as,  in 
consequence  of  his  warning,  I  was  making  for  the 
blind  trail  on  my  right,  the  moonlight  came  near 
betraying  me.  My  course  took  me  over  a  short 
space,  where  the  dense  pine  growth  was  a  little 
broken  up.  One  of  my  pursuers  caught  a  glimpse, 
in  the  distance,  of  a  dim  figure  on  horseback ;  this 
man  was  the  leader  of  the  gang ;  he  alone  knew  of 
the  existence  of  the  blind  trail ;  he  instantly  stopped 
his  comrades,  and  swore  that  he  had  seen  me  spur- 
ring to  the  right  of  the  canon.  The  men  held  a 
parley.  At  first  they  greeted  their  comrade's  story 
with  derisive  shouts.  They  swore  that  horse  and 
rider  were  phantoms  of  his  whiskey-muddled  brain, 
and  vowed  they  would  not  budge  an  inch  from  their 
course.  But  he  persisted,  telling  them  of  the  blind 
trail ;  and  at  last  they  rather  sullenly  consented  to 
follow  him.  In  the  black  pine-shadows,  a  few  rods 

83 


84  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

off,  the  stranger  who  rode  to  save  me  had  listened 
to  the  parley.  If  the  ruffians  struck  the  blind  trail, 
he  knew  that  I  was  a  dead  man. 

"  It  came  over  him  in  a  flash  that  there  was  still  a 
chance  for  my  life  —  a  chance  that  now  lay  solely 
with  himself.  An  instant  later  his  horse's  head  was 
turned;  he  was  making  straight  for  the  canon.  To 
gain  this  he  must  cross  a  small,  rude  clearing  in  the 
woods.  When  the  ruffians  caught  sight  of  him,  as 
they  could  not  fail  to  do, —  a  dim  figure,  in  the  dim 
moonlight,  spurring  across  the  half-cleared  open, — 
they  would  be  sure  they  were  on  the  right  scent. 
Even  their  leader  must  be  satisfied  that  his  eyes  had 
played  him  false. 

"Three  minutes  later,  that  young  man  had  crossed 
the  broken  shadows  and  scant  moonbeams,  that 
flecked  the  clearing,  and  plunged  into  the  mouth  of 
the  canon.  This  stretched,  a  long,  deep,  narrow 
ravine,  for  more  than  a  mile,  between  towering  walls 
of  steep,  bare  rock,  furrowed  with  deep  crevices 
and  ragged  ledges,  and  scantily  wooded  at  the  base. 
The  trail  scaled  this  wall  of  rock,  and  ran,  at  the 
highest  point,  along  a  narrow,  jutting  ledge,  at  least 
two  hundred  feet  above  the  canon,  of  which  it  com- 
manded a  long  view.  The  horse,  spurred  by  his 
rider,  went  like  the  wind,  but  while  he  urged  him 
on,  the  young  man's  ear  was  strained  for  the  shot 
that  would  be  his  doom. 

"  He  had  not  gained  the  middle  of  the  road  when 
the  shot  came,  loud  and  long,  over  his  head,  and  fill- 
ing the  ravine  with  its  rattling  echoes.  The  horse 
leaped  with  terror,  and  tore  madly  along  the  rough 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  85 

road.  Then  came  the  loud  yell  of  mortal  fright  and 
pain,  the  thud  of  a  heavy  body  through  the  crashing 
branches  of  the  wooded  base  of  the  rocks.  A  rifle 
had  gone  off  by  accident,  while  its  owner  was  aiming 
to  cover  his  victim.  One  of  the  ruffians  had,  in  all 
probability,  met  the  fate  he  had  designed  for  an- 
other. Before  the  gang  could  recover  from  their 
first  consternation,  the  frantic  horse  had  borne  his 
rider  beyond  their  reach. 

"This  was  my  young  friend's  story,  forced,  in 
broken  sentences,  from  reluctant  lips.  Had  he 
spoken  in  a  tongue  I  had  not  understood,  I  should 
have  imagined,  from  his  manner,  that  he  was 
confessing  something  of  which  he  was  mortally 
ashamed. 

"  When  he  had  got  through  with  his  story,  I  said 
to  him  :  '  You  must  have  known  as  you  rode  down 
into  that  canon,  that  the  chances  were  greatly 
against  your  ever  coming  out  alive.' 

" '  There  was  no  time  to  think  about  that,'  he 
answered,  not  seeming  to  understand  of  what  a 
splendid  deed  he  had  just  shown  himself  capable. 
'  I  meant  to  save  your  life,  if  that  could  be  done. 
Really,  that  was  all  I  was  conscious  of  at  first. 
Later  on,  when  I  was  deep  in  the  canon,  expecting 
the  shot  every  instant,  I  remember  thinking  that  if 
it  was  all  over  with  me,  the  life  of  the  man  I  should 
save  was  doubtless  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  my 
own.' 

"  I  took  off  my  hat  to  him.  '  My  friend,'  I  said, 
*  when  you  thought  that,  you  made  a  mistake.'  And 
then  I  drew  close  to  him,  put  my  arms  around  his 


86  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

neck,  —  the  tall,  manly  young  fellow,  —  and  kissed 
him." 

There  were  tears  in  the  bright  gray  eyes  of  the  old 
man ;  there  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  younger 
who  listened  to  him. 

"  You  had  some  talk  after  that,"  said  Ray,  seeing 
that  his  uncle  did  not  at  once  go  on. 

"  Of  course,  I  learned  my  young  friend's  name 
and  a  few  main  facts  of  his  history.  He  had  been  in 
California  for  more  than  two  years.  He  had  come 
out  from  the  East  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  I  saw  that 
he  had  at  first  found  hard  lines  in  that  rough  mining 
world.  But  within  a  few  dajrs,  he  related,  his  for- 
tunes had  greatly  brightened.  A  claim  on  which  he 
had  founded  large  hopes,  and  where  he  had  been 
prospecting  for  months,  until  he  had  lately  aban- 
doned it  for  Red  Stone  Gulch,  had  been  found  to 
contain  rich  ore.  There  was  no  farther  question 
about  its  paying  to  work  it.  He  owned  half  the 
claim,  for  which  he  was  to  set  out  in  the  morning." 

"  And  his  name  ?  "  asked  Ray. 

"I  thought  I  mentioned  it;  John  Graileson." 

"John  Graileson,"  repeated  Ray. 

"  That's  it.  I  can  never  cease  to  regret  that  the 
time  for  our  interview  was  so  brief,  that  there  was 
still  so  much  left  to  learn.  But  I  confidently  reck- 
oned on  our  soon  meeting  again,  and  urgent  affairs 
called  each  of  us  at  that  moment.  It  was  important 
that  my  friend  should  regain  the  camp  before  day- 
light to  meet  an  engagement  before  he  set  out  for 
his  claim.  I  had  to  follow  the  stage  with  as  little 
loss  of  time  as  possible.  We  parted,  after  that  hur- 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  87 

ried  talk  on  the  lonely  highway,  in  the  moonlit  mid- 
night. We  checked  our  horses  several  times  to  have 
a  last  look,  to  wave  each  other  a  last  farewell.  But 
I  never  saw  my  friend  again." 

"  Uncle  Kenneth !  " 

"It  has  been  a  continuous  regret  to  me.  As  I 
said,  we  parted  at  midnight.  In  the  gray  dawn  I 
reached  the  point  where  I  was  to  intercept  the  stage. 
An  accident  had  delayed  it  for  several  hours,  and  I 
came  up  in  the  nick  of  time.  My  friends  brought 
letters  from  the  East  which  made  my  prompt  return 
imperative.  Your  grandfather  had  been  seized  with 
the  long  illness  which  at  last  ended  his  days.  After 
his  death,  business  forced  me  to  go  to  Europe.  It 
was  ten  years  before  I  was  in  California  again." 

"But  you  wrote,  —  made  inquiries — "  began  Ray. 

"  Of  course,  I  did  much  more  than  that.  During 
my  stay  in  California,  I  left  no  stone  unturned  to 
get  some  trace  of  this  man.  But  nothing  came  of  my 
efforts,  or  of  those  I  set  to  work  for  me.  I  thought 
more  than  once,  we  were  on  the  right  track ;  but 
when  I  followed  it  up,  it  failed  absolutely.  John 
Graileson  never  crossed  my  path  again." 

"It  is  the  most  astonishing  mystery,"  interposed 
Ray.  "  With  your  facilities,  too,  for  hunting  up 
people  and  things  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  !  One 
might  almost  be  tempted  to  suspect  that  he  had 
given  you  the  wrong  name." 

"One  might.  Only  if  you  had  looked  into  his 
eyes  that  night,  you  would  have  been  certain  that 
John  Graileson  would  never  fear  to  stand  behind  his 
own  name." 


88  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  There  was  the  claim.  You  investigated  that,  of 
course?" 

"Ah,  there  was  the  rub.  In  the  hurry  and  agita- 
tion of  that  night,  I  neglected  to  inquire  either  the 
name  or  location  of  the  claim.  It  seems  incredible, 
the  way  I  have  been  baffled;  for  I  have  tried  all 
methods,  secret  and  open.  If  the  Christian  name 
had  been  less  common,  my  chances  for  finding  him 
would  perhaps  have  been  greater.  However,  I  came 
once  —  I  am  sure  of  it  —  by  the  merest  accident  011 
some  trace  of  my  friend." 

"Where  was  it?" 

"  More  than  twelve  years  ago,  I  was  travelling  in 
Tennessee.  On  the  train  were  some  soldiers.  Part 
of  these  had  served  in  the  Northern  army,  part  in 
the  Southern.  They  fraternized  admirably,  and  be- 
guiled their  journey  with  war  reminiscences.  One 
of  these,  a  Kentuckian,  long,  lank,  sandy-haired,  and 
red-bearded,  who  was  in  the  campaign  before  Vicks- 
burg,  related,  in  his  local  dialect,  some  of  his  personal 
experiences.  He  had  been  wounded  at  Champion's 
Hill,  which  was,  you  remember,  the  hardest-fought 
battle  of  the  siege.  During  the  night  he  lay  upon 
the  ground,  by  his  side  a  staff-officer,  who  had  been 
badly  hurt  in  the  engagement.  This  latter  lay  much 
of  the  time  unconscious,  but  occasionally  rallied,  and 
talked  in  a  touching,  rambling  way  of  his  wife  and 
children  at  the  North.  And  then  again  he  would 
fancy  he  was  in  California,  and  live  over  scenes  and 
adventures  of  his  life  there.  His  mind  had  wandered 
a  good  deal ;  but  it  was  evident  the  talk  had  made 
an  impression  on  the  rough  soldier  who  lay  by  his 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  89 

side  on  the  battle-field  of  Champion's  Hill,  in  the 
soft  May  night,  under  the  southern  stars. 

"  At  last  help  came.  The  wounded  were  removed, 
among  them  the  staff-officer ;  but  the  soldier  who  lay 
by  his  side  so  many  hours  never  heard  whether  he 
lived  or  died.  He  was  from  the  North,  a  tall,  fine- 
looking  fellow,  with  black  hair  and  beard. 

" '  Did  you  find  out  his  name  ? '  inquired  one  of 
the  man's  auditors. 

"  'I  asked  him  that  once,'  he  answered,  'when  he'd 
come  out  of  a  faint.  It  was  John  Graileson.  At 
times,  his  mind  cleared  up  a  good  deal,  and  he  talked 
about  the  hard  fightin'  the  boys  had  that  day,  and 
what  plucky  fellows  they  were.' 

"  I  had  listened  idly  to  the  talk,  as  our  train  swept 
through  the  rich,  rolling  landscape,  but  I  was  on  my 
feet  at  that  name.  It  was  but  a  step  to  the  Ken- 
tuckian's  side,  and  in  a  moment  I  was  seated  by  him. 
During  the  next  two  hours  I  sifted  him  thoroughly. 
He  was  an  honest,  good-natured  fellow ;  and,  when 
he  saw  my  eagerness,  did  his  best  to  recall  every  in- 
cident of  that  night.  But  he  could  afford  me  no 
farther  trace  of  my  friend ;  only  from  his  description 
I  was  satisfied  that  the  John  Graileson  who  lay 
wounded  at  Champion's  Hill,  his  mind  wandering 
away  to  his  wife  and  children,  and  to  his  old  life  in 
California,  was  the  man  who  rode  down  into  the 
canon  to  take  my  place.  But,  for  all  that,  I  was  no 
nearer  finding  him  at  the  close  of  our  two  hours' 
talk." 

"  It  was  terribly  aggravating,"  commented  Ray  to 
himself. 


90  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  Yet  I  have  always  had  a  curious  feeling  that  the 
mystery  must  some  day  be  cleared  up." 

"  You  tell  me  you  have  remembered  John  Graile- 
son's  heirs  —  if  he  have  any  — in  your  will?" 

"  He  spoke,  you  remember,  of  wife  and  children. 
If  these  come  to  light,  I  have  left  them  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  If,  during  the  next  twenty  years,  you  hear 
nothing  of  these  heirs,  devote  the  dividends,  as  they 
fall  due,  to  the  noblest  generosities  within  your 
reach.  After  that,  you  can,  if  you  prefer,  bestow 
the  fifty  thousand  where,  in  your  judgment,  it 
will  do  the  most  good.  I  have  left  all  that  in  your 
hands ;  only  remember,  Ray,  if  the  heirs  never  ap- 
pear, this  money  is  a  sacred  trust.  It  is  always  to  be 
used  for  others." 

"  I  shall  remember."  Ray's  tone  made  further 
pledge  unnecessary.  "  And  you  really  have  a  feeling 
that  somebody  —  something  will  turn  up  one  of 
these  days  ? "  Ray  had  a  large  faith  in  his  uncle's 
prescience. 

"  If  I  had  none,  I  should  not  have  made  this  part 
of  my  will." 

In  a  little  while  Ray  reverted  to  the  story  :  "  What 
a  splendid  deed  it  was !  It  gives  one  a  new  faith  in 
human  nature  to  know  such  a  man  lived." 

"  You  are  right,  my  boy  ;  it  is  much  to  know  such 
a  deed  has  been  done  — that  the  man  lived  capable  of 
doing  it.  I  believe  it  makes  one  better  to  owe  a  debt 
of  this  sort ;  and  you  will  always  owe  it,  Ray.  If  that 
young  fellow's  —  John  Graileson's  —  heart  or  will 
had  failed  him  at  the  supreme  moment,  we  should 
not  be  sitting  here  to-night." 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  91 

"Such  an  act  shames  me!  "broke  out  Ray.  "I 
never  could  have  stood  such  a  test.  I  never  could 
have  given  my  life  for  a  man  I  did  not  know." 

"  Don't  vex  your  soul  with  such  questions,  Ray. 
A  man  never  knows  to  what  he  may  rise  or  sink, 
until  the  time  comes." 

Ray  never  could  tell,  though  he  often  tried  to 
recall  the  talk  of  this  night,  the  precise  point  where 
it  entered  a  new  channel.  But  he  could  remember 
his  uncle's  saying:  "Each  man  must  live  his  life  for 
himself.  I  have  tried  to  do  the  best  for  you,  Ray ; 
but  it  must  all  come  down,  at  last,  to  the  forces  of 
your  own  will  and  heart  and  conscience.  In  the  long 
run,  they  must  decide  everything.  Of  course,  there 
will  come  hard  places  for  you, —  strains  of  soul  and  of 
flesh,  —  no  man  escapes  those ;  but,  at  least,  see  to  it 
that  you  sow  no  remorses  in  your  youth,  to  haunt 
your  memory,  and  embitter  your  later  years.  If  I 
could  foresee  this  would  be  our  last  night  on  earth, 
I  would  adjure  you  there  !  When  my  mantle  has 
fallen  on  your  shoulders  —  " 

"  They  can't  carry  it,  Uncle  Ken  !  I  tell  you  they 
are  not  broad  enough."  Ray's  passionate  depreca- 
tion was  in  marked  contrast  with  his  usual  confident 
tone. 

"  If  I  had  any  fears,  I  should  take  care  that  the 
weight  was  a  light  one.  But  let  all  that  pass. 
When  the  day  comes  in  which  you  find  yourself 
alone  at  Bylanes,  I  want  you  to  go  abroad.  Set  off 
at  once.  You  will  find  business  affairs  which  will 
require  your  personal  attention.  Then  you  will 
need  change  of  scene,  travel,  new  knowledge  of 


92  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

the  world.     Be  gone  two,  three,  as  many  years  as 
you  like.'' 

He  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  Perhaps  this  was 
because  of  the  look  in  Ray's  eyes.  But  he  mur- 
mured, in  a  half-absent  tone,  one  of  the  old  Latin 
axioms  he  had  learned  in  his  boyhood,  — 

"  Fideli  certa  merces." 

In  a  little  while,  and  in  a  tone  singularly  tender, 
he  said,  "  There  is  one  other  matter  I  want  to  speak 
of." 

"Well,  Uncle  Ken." 

"  Some  day,  you  will  be  bringing  a  wife  to  By- 
lanes." 

Ray  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "  It  will  be 
a  long  time  first,"  he  said,  with  the  proud  confidence 
of  a  young  fellow  absolutely  heart-free.  But  at  this 
moment  he  could  not  jest  on  the  subject. 

"  I  like  to  think  of  her,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
soft  shining  in  his  eyes,  "  moving  about  the  rooms,  a 
fair,  sweet,  gracious  presence,  taking  the  place  of 
Margaret,  my  Margaret,  who  was  lovely  in  soul  and 
body.  You  must  tell  that  young  wife  sometimes, 
that  I  thought  of  her,  talked  of  her." 

Ray  did  not  speak. 

"  Be  wise,  be  true  to  your  highest  instincts  in  that 
choice,"  continued  the  old  man,  in  a  tone  of  solemn 
tenderness.  "  Any  failure  there  would  be  fatal  — 
at  least,  would  go  far  to  spjil  your  life  of  this 
world.  See  that  your  love  be  to  you,  what  mine  was 
to  me,  my  finest  inspiration,  my  purest  conscience, 
my  deepest  joy." 


A  BOSTON  GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  93 

And  again  Ray  listened  without  speaking. 

"  And  be  sure,  Ray,  that  you.  hold  your  life  as  pure 
and  sacred,  your  honor  as  flawless,  as  you  would  have 
hers,  when  she  comes  to  you." 

Then  Ray  rose  from  his  chair  and  stood  by  the 
mantel,  as  he  had  stood  on  that  other  night.  "  Uncle 
Ken,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  not  his  usual  gay, 
careless  one,  "  I  have  been  an  idle,  lazy,  selfish  rascal, 
at  best,  but,  thus  far,  I  have  never  done  a  thing  for 
which  I  should  be  ashamed  to  look  my  dead  mother 
in  the  face." 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  two  low,  silvery  chimes 
broke  into  the  silence. 

Ray  started,  and  stared  at  the  hands.  "  Did  you 
hear  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late."  The  old 
man  had  a  weary  look. 

"  Uncle  Ken,"  exclaimed  Ray,  marking  the  look 
with  compunction,  "  we  must  not  have  another  word 
to-night.  But  the  story  you  have  told  me  would, 
like  Prospero's  to  Miranda,  '  cure  deafness.' " 

At  the  threshold  the  elder  Gathorpe  turned.  "  We 
are  in  the  small  hours,  Ray,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  don't 
grudge  one  minute  of  this  night  we  have  had  to- 
gether." 


IX. 

THE  next  morning  Ray  Gathorpe  went  into  Bos- 
ton. The  storm  had  vanished  so  completely  that  no 
solitary  plume  of  white  cloud  drifted  along  the  hori- 
zon. The  air  had  the  peculiar,  transparent  quality 
which  follows  the  clearing  up  of  a  long  storm. 
Every  feature  of  the  landscape  stood  out  in  bold  re- 
lief. Ray  noticed,  from  his  car -window,  the  delicate 
interlacing  of  the  bare  branches,  the  flutter  of  yellow 
leaves  on  the  white  birches,  like  swarms  of  pale  yel- 
low butterflies  ;  and  the  blue,  distant  reaches  of  sap- 
phire sea.  It  struck  him  that  the  November  scene 
had  a  distinct  charm  of  its  own — a  tender,  sunny 
peacefulness,  which  one  need  not  have  cared  to  ex- 
change for  all  the  glowing  joyousness  of  June. 

But,  as  the  landscape  whirled  past,  the  young 
man's  thoughts  were  much  absorbed  in  the  talk  to 
which  he  had  listened,  the  night  before,  and  which 
had  made  an  impression  that  would  be  lifelong. 

After  he  arrived  at  the  Eastern  station,  Ray 
sought  for  the  pocket  letter-case  which  contained  the 
address  he  was  bent  on  looking  up  the  first  thing. 
To  his  dismay,  it  was  not  in  his  overcoat  breast- 
pocket, where  he  could  have  sworn  he  had  placed  it 
before  he  left  Bylanes  that  morning.  He  searched 
his  other  pockets,  with  the  same  unsatisfactory 

04 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  95 

results,  and  was,  at  last,  forced  to  believe  that  he 
must  have  left  the  thing  lying  on  his  dressing- 
bureau. 

"  Confound  it ! "  he  exclaimed,  inexpressibly 
chagrined.  "  What  an  outrageously  careless  scamp  I 
must  be  I  It  makes  a  fellow  want  to  curse  himself. 
And  I  have  no  more  idea  of  that  address  than  I 
have  of  the  man  in  the  moon's !  " 

It  began  to  seem  as  though  some  hostile  fate  was 
always  interposing  between  him  and  the  strangers  he 
was  eager  to  serve  ;  he  glanced  at  the  station  clock, 
half  minded  to  take  the  next  train  back,  and  return 
to  the  city  by  a  later  one.  But  Ray  had  some  per- 
sonal errands  to  attend  to,  after  he  had  disposed  of 
the  more  important  matter ;  he  at  last  concluded  to 
finish  up  his  errands,  and  make  a  fresh  start  next 
day,  in  quest  of  his  protege*. 

The  letter-case  —  it  was  a  new  one,  of  black  Rus- 
sia leather  —  contained  some  bank  notes,  and  some 
visiting  cards ;  but  the  latter  were  unimportant : 
and  he  could  easily  obtain  fresh  funds ;  so,  the  loss 
of  the  address  was  the  only  thing  that  seriously 
annoyed  him.  "  What  a  thoroughgoing  blunder  it 
was ! "  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  jumped  aboard  the 
horse-car.  "  It  seems  as  though  something  bent  on 
defeating  me,  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  business ! 
Be  it  man  or  devil,  we  shall  have  a  tough  fight  before 
I  give  in  !  Meanwhile,  I  hope  that  little  girl  won't 
go  hungry  again  !  " 

Ray  had  a  curious  impression,  too,  that  while  he 
was  on  the  cars,  he  had  taken  out  the  case  and  seen 
the  card  which  contained  the  address,  lying  in  one 


96  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

of  the  red  silk  pockets."  This  impression  kept  re- 
curring with  teasing  pertinacity.  "  Of  course  that 
is  all  nonsense !  "  he  at  last  said  to  himself,  in  an  irri- 
tated tone. 

His  errands  occupied  several  hours.  It  was  get- 
ting late  in  the  short  November  afternoon  when  he 
took  the  train  for  Bylanes. 

At  the  station,  two  miles  from  the  house,  the 
buggy  was  awaiting  him.  As  he  caught  sight  of  the 
driver's  melancholy  face,  he  called  out,  in  the  cheery 
way,  which  always  made  him  a  favorite  with  the  ser- 
vants. "  Well,  Jack,  old  fellow,  what's  up  with  you 
now?" 

"  Your  uncle's  had  a  turn,  Mr.  Ray."  All  the 
light  fell  from  the  young  man's  face ;  he  grasped 
Jack's  arm.  The  man  read  the  question  in  his 
young  master's  eyes.  "  Oh,  no,  sir !  "  he  said.  "  It 
is  not  so  bad  as  that !  They  hoped  he  was  coming 
out  of  it  when  I  left." 

A  moment  later,  Ray  was  getting  into  the  carriage 
like  a  blind  man. 

As  they  dashed  along  the  road,  he  learned  all  that 
Jack  could  tell  him. 

His  uncle,  it  appeared,  was  out  on  the  piazza  in 
the  early  afternoon,  as  was  his  habit,  when  he  sud- 
denly staggered  and  dropped.  Somebody  saw  him 
fall ;  there  was  a  cry  —  a  rush  of  people ;  he  was 
taken  to  his  room,  and  physicians  summoned.  The 
trouble,  they  said,  was  with  his  heart ;  he  lay  quite 
unconscious,  despite  all  their  efforts  to  restore  him. 

When  Ray  reached  the  bedside  his  uncle  did  not 
know  him  ;  he  breathed  rather  heavily,  but  the  face 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  97 

under  the  white  hair  was  peaceful  as  a  sleeping 
infant's ;  he  stirred  slightly,  at  intervals,  and  there 
were  hopes  that  he  would  rally.  But  he  never  knew 
his  nephew  again.  As  the  night  waned,  his  breath- 
ing grew  slower  and  softer.  When  the  November 
dawn  looked  through  the  windows,  Ray  Gathorpe 
was  master  of  Bylanes ! 


X. 

IT  seemed  as  though  all  his  life  had  fallen  to  ruins. 
The  loss  of  Kenneth  Gathorpe,  was  not  to  his 
nephew,  simply  the  loss  of  one  best  beloved ;  his 
uncle  had,  as  we  have  seen,  stood  in  the  place  of  all 
those  household  ties  which  had  vanished  so  early 
from  Ray's  life.  It  was  not  only  the  man  —  grand 
as  he  was  —  who  had  left  him.  Something  of  all 
precious  family-loves  seemed  to  have  perished  with 
Kenneth  Gathorpe. 

His  uncle  must  have  forecast  the  mood  that  would 
follow  on  his  death.  It  was  the  wisest  possible 
arrangement  that  Ray  should  leave  America  a  fort- 
night after  the  funeral.  The  will  advised  this,  in 
terms  which  gave  them  the  force  of  a  command. 
The  executors,  who  were  personal  friends  of  both  the 
Gathorpes,  saw  that  entire  change  of  scene  and  life 
was  the  only  thing  likely  to  arouse  the  young  man 
at  this  juncture.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  troubled  all  who  saw  it.  Had  Ray  been  left 
to  follow  his  own  inclinations,  he  would,  no  doubt, 
have  preferred  remaining  at  Bylanes,  where  every- 
thing had  some  association  with  his  uncle.  But  he 
never  dreamed  of  opposing  his  inclinations  to  the 
wishes  of  the  dead. 

It  was  more  than  a  week  after  Kenneth  Gathorpe's 
death  before  his  nephew  remembered  the  errand 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  99 

which  had  taken  him  to  Boston  on  that  fatal  day. 
This  recollection  had  the  effect  of  rousing  him  as 
nothing  had  yet  done.  He  searched  everywhere  for 
the  letter-case  that  contained  the  address,  without 
which  he  could  do  nothing.  Curiously  enough,  the 
thing  had  disappeared.  Nobody  could  give  him  any 
information  about  it.  Ray  was  at  last  forced  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  had  mislaid  or  dropped  the  case 
in  some  unaccountable  fashion. 

But  he  would  not  let  the  matter  rest  here.  The 
papers  seemed  now  to  afford  him  his  sole  chance  of 
communicating  with  the  owner  of  the  lost  address. 
A  paragraph  in  two  of  the  Boston  dailies  requested 
the  young  man  who,  on  a  certain  date,  had  an  inter- 
view with  a  stranger  on  Somerset  Street,  to  call  at 
the  office  whose  address  was  subjoined,  and  where  he 
would  hear  of  something  to  his  advantage. 

Ray  never  related  this  interview  to  any  one  but 
his  uncle.  He  left  orders  at  the  office  that,  if  a 
young  man  answered  the  ''  personal "  he  should  be 
furnished  with  tickets  to  take  him  at  once  to  Bylanes. 

But  nothing  came  of  the  advertisement,  and  the 
day  of  its  last  appearance,  Ray  Gathorpe  sailed  for 
England. 


XL 

DORRICE  DACRES  sat  alone  in  the  attic,  a  little 
after  dark.  It  was  a  cold  December  night,  with 
little  gusts  of  bitter  wind  and  frequent  squalls  of 
snow  outside.  But  the  coals  were  bright  in  the 
cracked  old  stove,  and  the  kerosene-lamp  was  burn- 
ing on  the  table. 

In  that  double  light  the  chamber  had,  despite  its 
general  shabbiness,  a  certain  air  of  warmth  and  com- 
fort. The  girlish  presence  there  gave  a  subtle,  re- 
fined atmosphere  to  the  room,  despite  the  dinginess 
and  glare  of  discordant  color.  It  would  have  seemed 
quite  another  place  the  moment  its  young  occupant 
had  gone  out  of  it. 

It  was  a  month  now  since  Carryl  Dacres  went  to 
his  new  place.  It  had  been  a  happy,  though  rather 
anxious  time  to  the  brother  and  sister.  But  Carryl 
had  done  his  best,  and  easily  surmounted  the  awk- 
ward beginnings. 

There  had  naturally  been  a  good  deal  of  surprise 
and  some  grumbling  among  the  authorities  of  the 
firm,  at  placing  a  strange  youth  in  a  position  demand- 
ing proved  capacity  and  integrity  ;  but  the  head  of 
the  house  had  insisted  on  making  the  experiment. 

So  there  had  been  no  more  cold  or  hunger  for 
Carryl  Dacres  and  his  sister,  and,  though  poverty 

100 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  101 

still  pressed  closely,  they  scarcely  realized  it,  the  con- 
trast with  what  had  gone  be'fore  was  so  great. 

So,  full  of  hope,  but  with  a  little  pulse  of  anxiety 
beating  at  the  heart  of  it,  Dorrice  waited  to-night  for 
her  brother,  the  busy  hands  still,  the  brown  head 
leaned  a  little  to  the  door  as  she  listened. 

At  last,  the  swift  steps  mounted  the  stairs,  two  or 
three  at  a  time.  Carryl  burst  into  the  room,  and 
stood  before  his  sister  ;  he  did  not  speak  :  but  when, 
in  the  lamp-light,  she  saw  the  beaming  of  his  face, 
she  knew. 

"  Well,  Carryl  !  " 

"  It's  good  —  it's  glorious,  I  tell  you,  little  woman." 

"  I  was  certain  of  it.     Oh  Carryl,  tell  me  all ! " 

"  Be  careful  how  you  address  me  !  I  have  a  stand- 
ing-place, I  am  a  personage  of  consequence  on  this 
planet.  Like  old  Dogberry,  I  am  rich  enough — go 
to !  The  private  office  clerk  of  Hallowell,  Howth, 
and  Company  stands  before  you,  with  a  salary  of 
eight  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  the  probability 
that,  at  the  end  of  the  time,  it  will  be  slightly  ad- 
vanced! " 

"  Oh,  Carryl  Dacres !  I  am  the  happiest  girl  in  the 
world !  I  —  I  — you  know  I  always  was  a  fool,  Car- 
ryl !  "  for  now  she  had  burst  out  crying. 

"  So  that  is  the  way  you  take  a  fellow's  good  luck, 
is  it?"  Carryl  tried  to  look  stern  and  disgusted; 
but  he  was  in  mortal  terror  all  the  time  lest  he 
should  follow  his  sister's  example. 

An  hour  later,  she  sat  drinking  in,  with  happy 
curiosity,  her  brother's  talk. 

"  I  have  learned  many  things,"  Carryl  said,  "  dur- 


102  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

ing  the  last  month.  One  of  them  is  that  many  a 
rich  man  would  be  glad  to  see  his  son  in  my  place. 
I  little  dreamed  what  a  good  turn  I  was  doing  my- 
self when  I  rescued  Tom  Hallowell's  curly  head 
from  under  the  horses'  hoofs.  But  it  was  his 
mother,  after  all,  to  whom  I  owe  my  present  for- 
tunes." 

"We  shall  never  forget  that,"  interposed  Dorrice, 
fervently. 

"  She  was  in  the  office  to-day,"  continued  Carryl. 
"She  always  makes  a  point  of  being  polite  to  me.  I 
saw  her  ejres  glance  over  my  old  coat,  then  come 
back  to  my  face.  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  she  was 
thinking  at  that  moment  she  would  like  to  offer  me 
a  better  one." 

Here  Dorrice  broke  in  eagerly :  "  You  are  to 
have  the  new  coat  —  of  your  own  earning,  too  —  next 
week,  Carryl.  There  will  be  money  ;  I  have  been 
saving  and  scraping  for  that.  But  you  had  to  have 
the  boots  first,  you  know." 

Carryl  made  a  grimace,  half  merry,  half  serious. 
"  I  should  think  I  had,  when  I  remember  the  state 
of  their  predecessors  !  But  my  coat  —  nobody  can 
have  a  keener  sense  of  its  shabbiness  than  its  present 
owner  —  won't,  I  imagine,  prove  my  worst  enemy  in 
the  long  run." 

"Have  you  had  —  things  to  bear,  Carryl?"  in- 
quired Dorrice,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  At  first  it  was  not  all  halcyon.  I  had  some 
snubbings  to  put  up  with  from  the  younger  clerks, 
who  wouldn't  have  ventured  so  far  had  my  broad- 
cloth been  fresher.  '  It  is  your  turn  now,'  I  philoso- 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  103 

phized.  '  If  there  is  anything  inside  the  old  coat, 
my  turn  will  come  later.'  After  all,  I  believe  there 
is  nothing  like  shabby  clothes  to  bring  to  the  surface 
whatever  manliness  may  lie  at  the  bottom  of  a  fel- 
low. They  send  him  back  on  himself ;  prove  to  him 
what  stuff  he  is  really  made  of." 

"  Your  turn  will  come,  too,  Carryl ! "  exclaimed 
Dorrice,  with  a  world  of  proud  confidence  in  her 
tones.  But  just  then  she  did  not  smile  ;  her  heart 
was  full  of  a  great  indignation  and  pity  for  Carryl's 
sake. 

"  I  almost  thought  it  had  come  to-night,  when  Mr. 
Hallowell  said,  after  he  had  offered  me  the  situation 
for  next  year :  '  Yon  have  made  a  fair  beginning. 
We  are  satisfied  as  to  your  intelligence  and  trust- 
worthiness ;  go  on  as  yon  have  begun.'  He  has  not 
usually  many  words,  or  much  praise,  for  his  employ- 
ees ;  so  I  was  a  good  deal  taken  by  surprise." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  have  been,  Carryl. 
Of  course,  it  was  no  more  than  the  truth." 

"  I  intend  to  prove  it  was  not.  At  first,  everybody 
seemed  to  regard  me  with  a  kind  of  hostile,  suspi- 
cious feeling  ;  but,  for  some  reason,  there  has  been  a 
change  of  late.  I  am  treated  now  as  though  I  had 
a  right  to  my  place." 

It  was  months  later  before  Carryl  Dacres  surmised 
certain  tests  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  and 
which  had  established  his  character  for  one  of  abso- 
lute integrity  with  the  house. 

The  grave  talk  took  a  lighter  tone  at  last.  The 
outlook  seemed  so  assured,  the  future  so  fair,  to 
young  eyes ! 


104  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"Now  I  am  a  man  of  steady  income,"  said  Carryl, 
assuming  an  air  of  ludicrous  importance,  "there  is 
one  tiling  I  shall  insist  upon." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  We  shall,  in  future,  go  out  to  our  meals." 

"  Carryl  Dacres  ! " 

"  That  is  my  name  ;  and  I  am  master  of  this  house 
—  hum!  —  I  mean  of  this  attic, — and  in  this  instance 
shall  assert  my  authority." 

A  girlish  laugh  rang  its  gayest.  Dorrice  assured 
her  brother  that  he  reminded  her  alarmingly  of  the 
fierce  old  Bluebeard  of  the  picture-books.  "  But,  of 
course,  you  are  not  in  earnest,  Carryl  ? " 

"  I  never  was  more  so  in  my  life.  I  will  no  longer 
see  my  small  sister  getting  shadowy  over  the  work 
she  has  to  do,  with  no  conveniences,"  glancing  at  the 
little  red  hands,  of  which  their  mother  had  been  so 
fond. 

"  But,  Carryl,  it  will  be  awfully  expensive  !  " 

"  Of  course,  I  have  counted  the  cost.  But  I  have 
found  a  nice,  quiet  place,  where  the  meals  will  not 
be  much  more  than  yours  would.  You  will  still 
have  more  than  you  ought  to  do.  I  must  have  my 
own  way  in  this  matter,  Dorrice." 

When  he  spoke  in  that  tone  she  knew  it  was  use- 
less to  argue  with  him.  She  drew  a  long  breath.  A 
great  burden  seemed  suddenly  to  slip  from  the  young 
strength  the  last  year  had  taxed  so  heavily. 

Late  that  evening,  when  they  had  settled  various 
matters  regarding  the  immediate  future,  Dorrice  said, 
suddenly,  "  Carryl,  it  is  very  strange  you  have  never 
heard  from  —  from  —  " 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.         .         105 

"I  understand  you."  Carryl's  voice  and  face 
were  very  serious  now.  "  But  he  meant  to  come  ; 
something  must  have  happened." 

Dorrice  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  she 
turned  to  her  brother,  and  her  large  brown  eyes 
shone  upon  him,  bright  and  confident.  "  Carryl," 
she  said,  "  we  shall  know  some  time ;  it  will  all  come 
right." 

For  a  while  past  the  young  people  had  not  been 
mucji  in  the  habit  of  reading  the  papers,  else  they 
might  have  lighted  on  a  paragraph,  in  some  of  the 
principal  dailies,  which  would  have  had  a  personal 
interest  for  them. 


XII. 

ON  that  evening,  while  Carryl  Dacres  and  his  sister 
were  talking  over  his  engagement  with  the  house  of 
Hallowell,  Howth,  and  Company,  in  a  street  a  short 
distance  off,  two  men  sat  together  before  a  table  in  a 
beer-and-oyster  saloon.  Everything  about  the  place 
was  coarse,  dingy,  and  slatternly.  Odors  of  vile  to- 
bacco, with  a  strong  scent  of  whiskey,  tainted  the  air. 
The  two  men  sat  a  little  apart,  in  a  corner.  They  had 
the  appearance  of  cronies,  as  they  drank  their  beer 
and  peppered  their  bivalves.  A  number  of  people 
were  lounging  about  the  room,  smoking  cigars  and 
pipes,  discussing  politics  and  telling  stories,  mingling 
their  talk  with  coarse  jests  and  loud  guffaws,  in 
which,  however,  the  pair  at  the  table  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  join. 

Good  comrades  as  they  appeared,  there  was  a  no- 
ticeable contrast  between  the  two.  The  elder  man 
had  an  air  and  look  which  suggested  different  sur- 
roundings and  better  days.  He  was  tall,  his  hair 
and  mustache  were  iron-gray,  his  skin  had  an  un- 
healthy pallor.  He  must  have  been  a  good-looking 
man  in  his  youth  ;  but  his  features  were  sharpened 
now,  while  his  blue  eyes  had  a  hard,  restless,  and  at 
times  sulleji  expression. 

His  companion  looked  at  least  twenty  years 
younger.  With  him  a  coarse  bravado  of  manner 

106 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  107 

and  character  was  salient.  He  was  rather  heavily 
built,  with  carrot-colored  whiskers,  and  bristly  hair,  a 
shade  lighter.  He  had  a  cool,  self-confident  stare, 
across  which,  at  times,  shot  a  furtive  glance. 

The  elder  man's  dress  was  neat,  but  had  evidently 
seen  long  service.  The  younger's  had  the  effect  of 
vulgar  smartness.  It  was  easy  to  associate  one  with 
a  different  kind  of  environment ;  the  other  seemed, 
in  accordance  with  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  to 
belong  to  his  present  one. 

"  We  must  have  a  smoke,  now,  Reeves,"  said  the 
latter,  pushing  back  his  plate  and  his  glass.  "  You 
know  I  am  to  stand  the  racket  for  this  treat."  He 
ordered  some  cigars,  drew  out  something  from  his 
pocket,  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  It  was  a  handsome 
letter-case  in  black  Russia  leather.  It  caught  the 
eye  of  the  elder  man.  "You  have  got  a  swell  thing 
there,  Dick,"  he  said,  taking  it  up,  and  examining  it 
curiously.  "  That  must  have  cost  you  a  nice  little 
sum." 

"  Oh,  not  enough  to  bleed  me  very  heavily,"  re- 
plied the  other,  affecting  a  free-and-easy  tone  and 
attitude.  "Look  inside,  will  you?" 

The  elder  opened  the  case,  and  gazed  at  the  dark 
silken  linings.  He  saw  some  bank  notes  and  some 
silver.  A  card  rolled  out  on  the  table.  A  name,  in 
a  large,  rapid  hand,  caught  his  eye.  He  read  it  twice. 
When  he  lifted  his  head,  there  was  a  change  in  his 
face.  "Dick,"  he  asked,  in  quite  another  voice, 
"how  did  you  come  by  this?" 

"  As  a  man  who  honestly  paid  for  it  would  be 
likely  to  come  by  it,"  the  younger  replied,  with  an 


108  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

attempt  to  carry  the  matter  off  gayly ;  but  the  swift 
furtive  gleam  came  and  went  in  his  eyes. 

His  comrade  saw  it.  By  this  time,  the  waiter  had 
brought  cigars  and  matches.  The  younger  helped 
himself ;  the  elder  pushed  them  aside.  He  still  held 
the  card  between  his  fingers.  "Tell  me  the  truth, 
Dick,"  he  said ;  the  low  tones  had  a  half-menacing 
sound. 

"You  needn't  think  that,"  replied  Dick,  half  sul- 
len, half  defiant.  "I'm  too  shrewd  to  go  for  any 
game  of  that  sort." 

The  elder  man  understood  that,  in  this  euphemistic 
way,  Dick  denied  having  stolen  the  letter-case. 

He  made  a  fresh  attempt  to  get  at  the  truth.  He 
leaned  over  and  seized  Dick's  arm. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  got  hold  of  this,  Dick  Weare," 
he  said.  This  time  the  voice,  a  little  louder,  was 
that  of  a  man  who  will  be  answered,  and  who  is  con- 
scious of  a  power  in  reserve  over  the  person  he 
addresses. 

Dick  felt  strongly  aggrieved;  but  his  wits  were 
more  or  less  muddled  with  his  drink.  He  had  known 
Andrew  Reeves  for  several  j-ears.  The  two  had  had 
some  business  transactions  which  would  not  have 
redounded  to  the  credit  of  either ;  but  the  elder  was 
cognizant  of  some  facts  in  the  younger's  history 
which  placed  the  latter  at  disadvantage.  Had  Dick's 
brain  been  clearer,  he  might  have  been  more  trucu- 
lent ;  but  he  glanced  at  Reeves'  face,  and  something 
he  saw  there  decided  him  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it. 

Dick  began  *his  story  with  another  oath,  and  in  a 


A  BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  109 

perfunctory  manner.  It  was  all  told  in  a  few  short, 
half-angry  sentences :  "  Two  or  three  weeks  ago,  I 
was  on  the  train,  corain'  back  from  a  little  business- 
trip  down  East.  There  was  only  a  few  people  aboard. 
In  front  of  me  sat  a  young  feller,  who  showed  by  his 
whole  cut  and  carriage  that  he  was  finer  clay  than 
they  usually  make  'em.  After  a  while,  my  fine 
young  gentleman  takes  this  out,  looks  at  it  in  a  kind 
of  absent  way,  and  slips  it  back  ;  he  thought  it  went 
into  his  pocket,  plumb,  but  instead  it  dropped  on  the 
seat.  It  wasn't  my  business  to  tell  him.  When  he 
got  into  Boston,  he  marches  out  o'  the  cars  none  the 
wiser,  for  all  he  carried  that  head  o'  his'n  so  high.  A 
minute  later,  I  marched  out,  too.  I  swear  to  you  I 
never  touched  the  thing  while  its  owner  was  by.  If 
he  lost  it,  my  right  was  as  good  as  any  other  man's 
who  found  it." 

Reeves  was  not  disposed  to  argue  the  ethics  of  this 
conclusion.  He  knew  his  man ;  he  was  satisfied 
Dick  Weare  had  told  him  the  truth. 

"  What  did  you  find  in  here  ?  "  persisted  the  elder. 

"  Not  the  plum  I  expected  from  the  looks  of  my 
young  sprig.  There  was  only  about  sixty  dollars." 

"  And  this  pasteboard  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  burned  that  up  with  a  few  visitin' 
cards.  In  case  anything  turned  up,  ashes  wouldn't 
tell  tales." 

Reeves  was  convinced  that  he  had  got  to  the  heart 
of  the  matter.  He  deliberately  emptied  the  contents 
of  the  case  on  the  table.  "  Take  every  penny  of  the 
money,  Dick,"  he  said,  pushing  the  bank  notes  and 
the  little  pile  of  silver  toward  him  ;  "  but  /  want 
the  case  and  the  card." 


110  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Dick  reddened  to  his  carroty  hair.  "  I  s'pose  a 
feller  has  a  right  to  say  somethin'  about  his  own 
property,"  he  growled,  threateningly. 

"  Now,  Dick,  don't  bluster,"  rejoined  the  other,  in 
a  rather  mollifying  tone,  evidently  feeling  that  his 
high-handed  proceeding  required  some  slight  justifi- 
cation. "It  won't  do  any  good.  I  have  a  reason  for 
wanting  these  things.  No  harm  shall  come  of  them 
to  you.  I  pledge  you  my  honor  I  will  never  go 
back  on  you,  Dick  Weare." 

He  looked  the  other  in  the  eyes  with  quiet  mas- 
tery. A  powerful-willed  man,  though  he  was  now  a 
much  broken-down  and  defeated  one,  asserted  him- 
self at  the  saloon-table. 

Dick  Weare  recognized  this  fact.  At  least,  he 
thought  it  wiser  not  to  prolong  the  controversy. 
They  turnedto  their  cigars  ;  but  the  good  camaraderie 
of  the  pair  was  over  for  that  night. 

The  younger  smoked  in  a  sullen,  suspicious  mood, 
the  elder  in  a  gloomy,  absent  one ;  and  in  these 
frames  of  mind  they  separated. 

The  next  morning's  papers  stated  that  a  man 
named  Andrew  Reeves,  returning  to  his  home,  had 
fallen  on  the  ice  and  injured  his  spine ;  he  had  been 
carried  to  the  hospital. 


XIII. 

THE  east  winds  had  fought  out  the  long,  fierce 
battle  of  March  and  April  on  the  Massachusetts 
coast ;  and  now  all  the  old  signs  showed  the  summer 
was  coming  that  way. 

The  skies  over  the  thick-huddled  roofs  of  Boston 
had  a  luminous,  tender  azure.  The  elms  on  the 
Common  were  green  as  when  the  robins  of  long- 
forgotten  Mays  sang  in  their  young  boughs.  These 
were  days  when  some  happy  mystery  seemed  to  brood 
in  the  warm,  sunlit  air. 

In  the  May  evening,  Carry!  Dacres  and  his  sister 
sat  together  for  the  first  time  in  their  new  home. 
The  window  was  open,  and  a  soft  south  wind  blew 
into  the  large,  low-studded  chamber.  Out  of  this  a 
somewhat  smaller  one  opened,  which  was  Dorrice's 
bedroom  ;  and  still  beyond  was  a  narrow  side  cham- 
ber, which  served  Carryl's  purpose  admirably,  and 
which  he  already  called  his  den. 

Dorrice  had  a  long,  tiresome  search  for  rooms  in 
the  early  spring.  It  was  new  work  for  the  girl,  whom 
the  last  year  and  a  half  s  experience  had  transformed 
from  a  child  into  a  woman.  Sometimes  the  brave 
young  heart  had  sunk,  and  she  almost  resolved  to 
give  up  a  quest  which  seemed  so  futile. 

For  all  the  comfortable  places,  the  rooms  out  of 
which  the  simplest  home  could  be  made,  were  so 

111 


112  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

immensely  beyond  their  slender  means.  The  salary, 
that  had  at  first  seemed  such  a  grand  fortune,  dwin- 
dled sadly  when  she  came  to  face  the  world  with  it. 
Dorrice  was  certain,  too,  that  Carryl  had  all  this  time 
strong  misgivings  about  the  success  of  her  project. 
Her  arguments  had  barely  succeeded  in  gaining  his 
consent  to  their  weathering  the  winter  in  the  attic, 
whose  dinginess  and  discomfort  were  a  constant 
offence  to  both.  She  never  would  have  prevailed, 
either,  had  she  not  had  a  secret  abettor  in  the  re- 
morse Carryl  felt  for  bringing  his  young  sister  into 
such  straits.  So  she  had  carried  her  point.  They 
not  only  had  their  attic-winter,  as  they  called  it ; 
they  denied  themselves  everything  but  the  barest 
necessities,  in  order  to  have  something  laid  up  for 
the  furnishings  of  the  rooms  on  which  Dorrice  had 
set  her  heart  for  the  next  spring. 

And  while  they  strained  every  nerve,  with  this 
object  in  view,  Dorrice  made  light  of  the  daily 
shifts  and  sacrifices,  until  Carryl  was  ashamed,  and 
grew  merry  and  witty  in  his  turn  over  their  expe- 
dients to  make  one  dollar  do  the  work  of  three. 

Poor  Dorrice !  It  was  hard  to  feel  at  times  that 
she  might  have  been  mistaken,  that  the  little  sum  of 
hardly  saved  money  would  have  been  better  ex- 
pended on  a  cheap  boarding-house,  which  had  been 
Carryl's  first  plan,  and  to  which,  whenever  disgust 
and  impatience  got  the  mastery,  he  was  much  in  the 
habit  of  recurring. 

Dorrice  had  her  answer  always  ready,  delivered 
with  that  little  maternal  air,  so  oddly  in  contrast 
with  the  girlish  voice  and  face. 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  113 

"  No  doubt,  what  you  say  is  all  true,  Carry  1.  We 
must  be  very  uncomfortable,  if  we  stay  here.  But 
we  can  rub  through,  you  know ;  and  when  the  spring 
comes,  instead  of  two  little,  dark,  stuffy  rooms,  in 
some  crowded  boarding-house,  if  we  can  have  a  dear 
little  quiet  nook  of  our  own  "  — 

"  Of  course.  I  know  just  what  a  small  paradise 
that  would  be,  oh,  Athene's  owl ! "  he  interrupted, 
with  a  kind  of  playful  grimness,  "  but  the  road  is 
such  a  horrid  one  to  travel,  and  I  am  extremely 
doubtful  whether  any  paradise  lies  at  the  end  of  it !  " 

"But  it  may ;  and  there  is  no  other  road  to  it. 
'  He  that  will  have  a  cake  out  of  the  wheat,  must 
needs  tarry  the  grinding.'  You  used  to  believe  in 
that." 

" '  Have  I  not  tarried,'   like  poor  Troilus  ?  " 

"  Poor  Troilus,  indeed ! "  Dorrice's  tone  was 
rather  aggravating,  but  it  changed  the  next  moment. 
"  Oh,  Carryl,  I  know  it  is  horrid ;  but  you  are  not 
going  to  let  a  girl  be  braver  than  you  ?  " 

"No  ;  I  am  going  to  die,  first !  "  and  he  swallowed 
his  disgust  and  impatience  for  one  more  time. 

One  afternoon,  when  Dorrice  was  particularly  dis- 
heartened over  a  long,  fruitless  search  for  apartments, 
and  was  making  up  her  mind  she  must  give  up  the 
quest  for  another  day,  she  learned,  by  the  merest 
chance,  of  some  rooms  to  let  on  Pinckney  Street. 
She  went  to  see  them,  feeling  singularly  old  and 
tired.  The  tall,  narrow  house,  with  its  high,  old- 
fashioned  stoop,  its  grim,  red  brick  facade,  and  its 
large  bow-windows,  must  have  seen  more  than  half 
a  century.  But  on  its  highest  flight  Dorrice  found 


114  A  BOSTON  GIEL'S  AMBITIONS. 

two  large,  low-studded,  sunny  rooms,  with  a  small 
side  one  thrown  in.  The  front  windows  afforded 
glimpses  of  Charles  River,  and  stretches  of  green 
country,  while  the  nearer  spires  and  campaniles  of 
Boston  soared  above  the  dark  house-roofs,  into  the 
blue.  These  chambers  would  be  let  to  the  right  sort 
of  tenant  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Dor- 
rice's  heart  gave  a  great  bound  when  she  learned 
the  price.  A  little  way  off,  people  who  affected 
more  fashionable  quarters  were  paying  a  thousand 
dollars  for  apartments  with  less  cheery  outlooks,  less 
cosey  interiors.  That  tall  old  house,  with  its  grim, 
bow-windowed  front,  had  an  attractive,  homelike  air, 
when  once  the  threshold  was  crossed.  Dorrice's 
feminine  instincts  took  in  all  the  possibilities  of  com- 
fort and  adornment  which  the  rooms  afforded. 
When  the  light  feet  descended  the  winding  stair- 
flights,  she  no  longer  felt  old  or  tired. 

That  evening  the  young  people  visited  the  rooms. 
The  price  brought  them  within  their  means.  The 
next  day  the  bargain  was  concluded. 

The  low-studded  room,  where  the  brother  and 
sister  sit  together  in  the  late  twilight,  has,  even  now, 
the  look  of  a  room  much  lived  in.  The  walls  have  a 
faint  pearl-gray  tint,  finished  and  warmed  at  the  top 
by  a  frieze  of  rich,  dull  red.  The  room  does  not 
seem  bare,  for  the  furnishings  have  been  so  carefully 
arranged,  with  such  an  eye  to  color  and  effect,  that 
they  seem  more  than  they  really  are. 

Every  piece  of  furniture  was  doubly  dear  to  the 
occupants,  because  it  had  a  history  —  represented  a 
struggle.  A  deep,  restful-looking  lounge  was  cov- 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  115 

ered  with  cretonne,  the  ground  of  sea-green  and 
gray,  brightened  with  dashes  of  red.  A  large  rug  of 
dim,  rich  colors  filled  the  centre  of  the  floor.  Dor- 
rice  regarded  this  as  her  chef  cCceuvre.  She  had  pur- 
chased it  for  a  song,  at  an  old  auction-warehouse.  A 
number  of  pretty-shaped  wicker  chairs  were  disposed 
about  the  room.  A  large,  old-fashioned  table  was 
covered  with  some  heavy  fabric,  whose  soft,  varied 
tints  chorded  with  the  rug.  Dorrice's  eyes  had 
ached  and  her  soul  sickened  so  long  with  the  glare 
of  coarse,  discordant  color,  that  she  was  fain  now  to 
feast  soul  and  sense  on  quiet,  neutral  tints. 

Through  the  open  door  the  next  room  afforded 
glimpses  of  a  pretty  chamber-set  in  ash,  fresh  from 
Paine's  warehouse.  A  rug  of  ingrain  carpeting, 
the  centre  of  oak  shades,  with  a  bordering  of  deep 
moss-colored  green,  and  some  satiny  stuff,  with  bril- 
liant crimson  stripes,  draped  about  the  mirror,  made 
the  only  vivid  color  in  Dorrice's  bedroom. 

The  brother  and  sister  sat  opposite  each  other  in 
the  blissful  enjoyment  of  their  first  evening  in  the 
new  home.  They  were  too  happy  for  continuous 
talk  even,  though  the  silences  were  broken  by  glib 
little  comments  at  short  intervals. 

"  Carryl,"  Dorrice  asked,  with  a  little  laugh,  partly 
gay  and  partly  something  else,  "  do  you  suppose  any 
human  beings  ever  started  housekeeping  on  such 
small  capital  as  we  have  ?  " 

"  If  they  did,  I  am  absolutely  certain  they  never 
achieved  such  results  !  " 

These  furnishings  had  been  an  immense  surprise 
to  Carryl.  After  Dorrice's  success  about  the  rooms, 


116  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

he  had  agreed  to  leave  everything  in  her  hands  ;  and 
the  climax  came,  when  he  entered  his  home  for  the 
first  time  and  stared  about  him  in  bewildered  amaze- 
ment. That  was  the  proudest  hour  of  Dorrice's  life. 

"How  did  you  do  this?"  he  'asked,  when  they 
were  at  last  quietly  seated,  after  he  had,  under 
her  supervision,  duly  inspected  all  the  appointments 
of  each  room. 

"I  do  believe,  Carryl,  I  evolved  this  furniture  out 
of  my  inner  consciousness,"  her  radiant  glance  going 
from  one  article  to  another.  "  You  see,  I  had  all 
winter  to  think  about  it.  When  I  had  once  found 
the  rooms,  everything  began  to  go  smoothly.  I  just 
happened,  by  some  mysterious  affinity,  on  the  things 
I  wanted.  Sometimes  it  was  in  old,  rubbishy  auc- 
tion-rooms; sometimes  in  great,  smart  warehouses. 
But  there  the  thing  was,  waiting  for  me,  and  the 
marvel  of  all  was,  there  was  the  little  purse  with  the 
money  in  my  pocket  to  pay  for  it." 

"  It  never  would  have  bee-n  there,  though,  if  I  had 
had  my  way  !  "  rejoined  Carryl,  recalling  some  of  his 
moods  and  tempers,  with  a  compunctious  twinge. 

"  In  my  secret  soul,  I  always  took  part  with  you, 
when  you  were  storming  the  worst.  But  if  we 
hadn't  scraped  and  saved  each  sixpence,  like  a  pair 
of  greedy  old  misers,  you  and  I  wouldn't  be  sitting 
here  this  blessed  hour.  It  was  just  the  picture  of 
the  little  home  ahead,  shining  before  me,  day  and 
night,  that  kept  me  fast  in  the  old  attic  last  winter." 

"I  confess  your  project  seemed  to  me  about  as 
sensible  as  a  race  for  a  rainbow." 

But  the  talk,  reflecting  their  moods,  was  constantly 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  117 

glancing  from  one  subject  to  another.  In  a  few 
moments,  Dorrice  broke  out :  "What  a  piece  of  good 
fortune  it  was  that  the  landlord  let  me  choose  the 
wall-papers !  I  hankered  for  the  quietest  tints,  after 
enduring  so  long  that  brimstone  yellow,  and  that 
horrid  paper,  with  the  great  sprawling  figures,  that 
always  made  me  think  of  the  saurians  and  lizards  of 
the  old  geologic  aeons." 

"Thank  Heaven,  they  have  vanished  from  our 
horizon!"  ejaculated  Carryl,  fervently.  "But  I 
shall  be  lucky  if  I  don't  find  myself,  from  the  mere 
force  of  habit,  turning  down  to  the  old  rookery 
again." 

"  That  would  be  just  like  you,  you  dear,  absent- 
minded  old  fellow !  And  I  can  see  you  now  waking, 
with  a  start,  to  the  blissful  consciousness  of  the 
facts,  and  wheeling  sharply  round,  and  facing  for 
Pinckney  Street." 

Her  laugh  rang  out,  a  bit  of  sweet,  infectious 
gayety,  which,  it  seemed,  the  very  walls  must  catch. 

Carryl  was  quite  willing  his  sister  should  have  her 
fun  at  his  expense.  "I  may  be  inclined  to  make  a 
visit,  once  in  a  great  while,  to  the  old  place,  for  the 
sake  of  happy  contrasts.  But  I  sha'n't  be  sorry  to 
learn  that  the  old  shell  has  tumbled  down  before  the 
march  of  improvement." 

"  It  seems  such  a  long  time  that  we  lived  there," 
said  Dorrice,  gravely  enough,  this  time.  "  And  yet, 
it  was  barely  eight  months." 

"  Barely  that." 

"  They  are  not  so  very  much  out  of  a  lifetime. 
We  feel  very  old,  Carryl,  because  of  all  we  have  been 
through,  but  we  are  young  still." 


118  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

His  black  eyes  twinkled  with  fun,  for  she  made 
this  statement  as  though  it  were  a  most  surprising 
fact. 

"  Young  still,"  continued  the  bright,  confident 
voice.  "  And  our  dark  da}rs  are  over,  and  we  are 
going  to  be  happy  for  the  rest  of  our  lives !  If  we 
could  only  have  been  sure  that  such  a  home-nest  was 
awaiting  us  at  the  end,  that  such  a  night  as  this 
was  on  the  way  to  us,  the  worst  would  not  have 
been  so  hard  to  bear." 

"  It  all  seems  like  a  bit  of  Prospero's  work,"  con- 
tinued Carry  1,  settling  himself  back  comfortably  in 
his  rattan  rocker.  "  Don't  let  me  find  out,  in  a  little 
while,  Dorrice,  that  it  is  all  such  stuff  as  dreams  are 
made  of." 

"Don't  you  fear  that,  Carryl.  All  these  things 
are  as  substantial  as  you  and  I.  My  prophetic  soul 
catches  glimpses  of  other  lovely  things  that  are  to 
stand  here,  some  of  these  days !  " 

•'  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  Oh,  portie'res,  screens,  lambrequins,  curtains,  — 
things  that  will  make  our  home  a  fairy  bower.  Of 
course  it  will  take  time.  But  you  and  I  have  learned 
how  to  wait,  Carryl !  " 

"  I  make  a  solemn  vow,  at  this  moment,  never  to 
growl  again  over  your  economies ;  still,  if  you 
hadn't  proved  yourself  capable  of  the  impossible, 
I  should  make  bold  to  inquire  where  all  these  lovely 
things  are  to  come  from  ?  " 

"I  can't  just  tell,  now.  But  they  are  sure  to 
come." 

So  the  talk  went  on,  playful  for  the  most  part,  and 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  119 

yet  with  its  serious  moods,  through  the  hours  of  that 
happy  May  evening,  that  would  henceforth  be  a 
landmark  in  their  lives.  But  when  it  wore  late,  the 
young  people  fell  into  a  steadily  grave  vein.  They 
lived  over  the  night,  more  than  a  year  and  a  half 
ago,  when  they  alighted  at  the  Boston  and  Albany 
station,  a  boy  and  girl,  dazed  with  wonder  and  de- 
light over  the  vast,  strange  city,  to  which  they  had 
come,  with  all  the  rash  confidence  of  youth  and 
ignorance,  to  seek  their  fortunes. 

They  dwelt  on  the  happy  fortnight  at  the  United 
States  Hotel,  when  they  made  their  first  acquaint- 
ance with  the  city,  and  visited  the  Public  Garden, 
the  Historical  Rooms,  Bunker  Hill,  and  Faneuil  Hall, 
and  saw  one  of  Shakspere's  dramas  on  the  stage : 
while  life  seemed,  in  those  enchanted  days,  like  a 
grand,  beautiful  Miracle  Play. 

But  when  the  first  fortnight  came  to  an  end,  the 
fatuous  young  creatures  discovered  what  alarming 
inroads  it  had  made  on  their  slender  finances,  and 
the  result  was  they  found  somewhat  less  expensive 
quarters,  in  a  pleasant  boarding-house  at  the  West 
End,  where  they  spent  a  month.  By  this  time  their 
funds  had  dwindled  alarmingly,  and  Carryl  began  to 
look  grave,  and  to  feel  that  it  was  high  time  to  find 
employment  of  some  sort,  though  he  had  a  very 
nebulous  idea  what  it  would  be,  or  how  to  set  about 
obtaining  it;  he  had  imagined  that  if  he  once  got 
into  the  city,  the  right  sort  of  place  would  come 
to  him,  inevitably  as  a  law  of  nature.  At  last  the 
young  people  were  forced  to  look  up  cheaper  quar- 
ters. Then  the  mother's  watch  had,  after  a  sharp 


120  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

struggle,  to  be  parted  with.  The  question  of  ways 
and  means  began  to  assume  a  very  grave  aspect. 
Carryl  at  last  arrived  at  the  conviction  that  no  em- 
ployment would  seek  him,  and  that  he  could  not 
afford  to  be  fastidious.  A  little  box  of  their 
mother's  jewelry  had,  piece  by  piece,  to  follow  the 
watch.  Of  course  all  these  things  went  at  a  terrible 
sacrifice.  But  the  problem  for  the  brother  and 
sister  was  now  fast  becoming  the  primary  one  of 
bread  and  shelter.  Carryl  began  his  quest  for  work, 
and  met  with  cold,  curt  negatives,  and  a  coarse, 
supercilious  style  of  treatment,  particularly  galling 
to  that  proud,  sensitive  youth  ;  but  necessity  forced 
him  to  swallow  his  resentments,  and  persevere. 
Meanwhile  his  young  sister's  bright  wits  were 
rapidly  gaining  a  fresh  knowledge  of  the  world  ;  it 
was  marvellous  how  the  tenderly  reared  child  roused 
herself  to  meet  the  situation.  It  was  Dorrice  who 
made  the  most  of  the  scant  funds,  and  who  found 
the  cheaper  boarding-house,  where  they  had  to  put 
up  with  much  that  was  an  offence  to  their  tastes  and 
previous  habits.  An  eager,  anxious  look,  it  was 
pathetic  to  see,  grew  in  those  brown  eyes ;  but  she 
refrained,  when  Carryl  came  back  at  night,  from  ask- 
ing any  questions.  Her  first  glance  always  settled 
the  one  she  had  most  at  heart. 

But  as  their  fortunes  grew  darker,  her  spirit  rose 
bravely  to  meet  them.  It  was  Dorrice  again  who 
proposed  and  carried  out  the  plan  of  going  into 
lodgings,  where,  she  insisted,  the  meals  would  be 
provided  at  smaller  expense.  The  mother's  little 
stock  of  jewelry  was  soon  exhausted.  The  two  grew 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  121 

thin  and  pale,  and  an  old,  worried  look  came  into 
their  young  faces.  It  was  necessary  again  to  seek 
cheaper  lodgings,  and  these  were  found  in  the  attic 
of  the  old  tenement-house.  And  here  their  fortunes 
were  destined  to  touch  their  nadir,  and  to  brighten 
at  last. 

But  when  the  reminiscences  reached  that  first 
day  —  so  vivid  in  the  memory  of  both  —  when  they 
came  to  live  in  the  attic,  there  was  a  dead  pause, 
as  the  contrasts  of  that  hour  and  this  forced  them- 
selves upon  the  two. 

"  You  were  splendidly  brave,  Dorrice.  You  made 
fun  of  the  worst  things,"  said  Carryl. 

The  small  dark  head  was  swiftly  erect.  The 
brown  eyes  seemed  to  grow  larger  with  the  light 
that  kindled  them  ;  yet  it  was  a  low,  rather  tremu- 
lous voice  that  answered :  "  One  has  sometimes 
to  say,  'I  can  die,  if  I  must,  but  I  cannot  break 
down.' " 

A  little  later,  Carryl  was  striding  about  the  room 
with  a  novel,  delightful  sense  of  possession  in  all 
that  lay  between  those  four  walls.  The  feeling  was 
too  deep,  however,  to  find  expression  in  anything 
but  a  light,  inadequate  speech :  "  It's  jolly  for  a 
fellow  to  find  himself  at  last  under  his  own  vine  and 
fig-tree." 

A  smile  trembled  out  on  Dorrice's  lips ;  but  she 
could  not  trust  them  for  a  word. 

But  a  little  later,  and  just  before  they  separated 
for  the  night,  she  turned  to  Carryl  and  said,  half 
seriously,  half  in  jest:  "I  rather  pity  people  who 
have  plenty  of  money  to  furnish  their  rooms  just  as 


122  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

they  like  all  at  once.  Things  mean  more  —  you  get 
more  happiness  out  of  them  —  when  you  have  to 
wait,  and  contrive,  and  save,  to  get  them." 

"You  may  be  right,  Dorrice,"  Carryl  replied ;  "but 
you  will  never  get  the  world  to  agree  with  you !  " 


XIV. 

ONE  morning,  when  the  young  people  had  been 
settled  more  than  a  month  in  their  new  home,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hallowell  sat  at  their  breakfast-table  in 
their  elegant  house  on  Newbury  Street.  The  east 
wind  of  the  early  summer  came  across  the  Back  Bay 
and  filled  the  large,  handsome  dining-room  with  de- 
licious coolness. 

The  gentleman  put  down  his  cup,  wiped  his  mus- 
tache, and  remarked,  with  the  good-humored  air  of 
a  man  who  is  satisfied  with  his  surroundings,  and 
has  just  finished  a  perfect  breakfast:  "  Bostonians 
need  be  in  no  hurry  to  get  out  of  town  while  this 
weather  lasts.  Somebody  who  knew  what  he  was 
saying  has  declared  that  our  Boston  springs,  which 
so  try  soul  and  body,  do  yet  make  the  most  delicious 
Junes  in  the  world." 

"Nobody  could  have  said  a  more  sensible  thing," 
replied  Mrs.  Hallowell,  who  had  just  returned,  by 
easy  stages,  from  Florida.  "  It  seems  so  delightful 
to  be  at  home  again,  and  have  the  quiet  and  inde- 
pendence of  one's  own  house,  that  I  doubt  whether 
seashore  or  mountains  could  tempt  me  away  this 
summer,  if  it  weren't  for  Tom  here."  She  glanced 
at  the  small  curly  head  in  the  high  chair  on  her  right. 

"  You  would  change  your  mind,  my  dear,  with  the 
dog  days,  and  with  everybody  out  of  town,"  her 

123 


124  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

husband  remarked.  "  How  would  it  suit  you,  Tom," 
turning  to  his  boy,  "  to  stay  cooped  up  here  all  sum- 
mer, instead  of  running  your  small  neck  into  all 
sorts  of  perils  down  on  the  beach,  or  among  the 
mountains  ?  " 

"  I  wather  wim  my  neck  into  'em,"  promptly  piped 
the  childish  soprano,  showing  that  Tom  had  caught 
the  gist  of  his  father's  question. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hallowell  laughed  heartily,  and  be- 
lieved their  son  a  marvellously  precocious  child. 

By  this  time  the  servant  had  left  the  room,  and 
the  three  lingered  at  the  table,  in  the  leisurely  en- 
joyment of  the  first  half-hour  after  breakfast,  while 
Tom's  round  little  head  kept  bobbing  about  as  he 
listened,  alert  and  curious,  to  his  parents'  talk. 

What  occult  association  of  ideas  prompted  Mr. 
Hallowell's  next  remark,  he  did  not  stop  to  investi- 
gate, but  he  suddenly  remarked :  "  I  saw  young 
Dacres  —  you  remember,  Emmeline  —  on  the  street, 
the  other  evening,  with  a  girl  ;  she  was  pretty  as  a 
picture ;  I  joked  him  about  it  afterward,  and  lo !  it 
appeared  she  was  his  sister,  and  that  they  are  living 
together  somewhere  on  Pinckney  Street." 

Mrs.  Hallowell's  face  and  manner  showed  a  fresh 
accession  of  interest.  "  It  has  been  on  my  tongue's 
end  a  dozen  times  since  I  returned,  to  ask  you  how 
you  are  getting  on  with  him." 

"Well  enough.  He  is  intelligent  and  trustworthy 
—  puts  his  brains  into  the  business." 

"  Then  you  didn't  make  a  mistake,  when  you  took 
my  advice  for  once  —  even  in  business." 

"  You  did  happen  to  hit  the  mark  that  time." 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  125 

"  Happen ! "  there  was  an  indignant  emphasis  in 
Mrs.  Hallowell's  voice.  "There  was  no  'happening' 
about  it.  I  knew  what  the  young  fellow  was,  be- 
cause of  what  he  had  done." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  Emmeline.  It  has 
turned  out  well  for  all  concerned." 

"  It  has  certainly  —  for  us." 

The  slight  significance  on  the  pronoun  rather  put 
Mr.  Hallo  well  on  his  defence.  "  The  young  fellow 
stepped  into  a  nice  berth  that  day,"  he  said. 

"I  am  glad  to  have  your  testimony  that  he  de- 
served it." 

"  But  people  are  not  always  so  lucky  in  getting 
their  deserts  offhand. " 

"  I  always  had  a  feeling  that  he  got  less  than  his," 
rejoined  the  lady. 

"  That  is  because  you  don't  understand  the  situa- 
tion. I  did  him  an  immense  favor  when  I  gave  him 
the  place,  and  stood  up  for  him,  against  all  odds, 
stranger,  as  he  was,  to  everybody  concerned.  I 
could  have  got  a  boy  —  a  smart  one,  too  —  for  con- 
siderably less  than  I  am  paying  him  this  summer." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  grudge  him  the  money." 

"You  know  better  than  that.  What  are  you 
driving  at,  Emmeline  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing  in  particular!  Only  it  strikes  me 
that  your  clerk  may  have  a  secret  conviction  that  we 
do  not  set  a  high  value  on  our  child's  neck." 

Mr.  Hallowell  was  silent  a  moment.  She  looked 
so  pretty,  sitting  opposite  him,  at  the  breakfast-table, 
—  the  rather  small,  daintily  modelled  woman,  —  in 
her  white  breakfast-gown,  relieved  with  soft  lace 


126  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

about  the  throat,  and  a  look  of  covert  defiance  in  her 
eyes,  as  though  she  were  certain  of  being  mistress  of 
the  situation,  that  he  burst  into  a  laugh.  "You 
shall  have  the  last  word,  Emmeline,"  he  said. 
"  What  a  fool  a  man  is,  ever  to  attempt  to  argue 
with  a  woman !  " 

The  lady  raised  her  eyebrows.  "  And  what  shall 
a  woman  be  named,  when  she  attempts  to  reach  a 
man  on  the  side  of  his  sentiment,  or  gratitude,  or 
human  feeling,  in  short?  All  such  considerations 
would,  of  course,  be  wasted  on  him." 

"No  question  of  that!  "Mr.  Hallo  well  assented, 
with  another  laugh. 

"  But  we  will  stop  this  nonsense.  See  how  gravely 
Tom  is  staring  at  us !  Papa  and  mamma  are  not 
quarrelling,  you  darling.  Did  you  learn  anything 
about  this  pretty  sister,  Ned?" 

"  Not  much.  She  is  younger  than  he.  They  live 
together  alone." 

"  Those  two  young  things  !  You  don't  really  sup- 
pose his  salary  has  to  support  both !  " 

"If  it  does,  they  must  find  it  tough  work  t(  make 
both  ends  meet.  But  one  half  of  the  world  d  esn't 
know  how  the  other  half  live,"  comfortably  dispos- 
ing of  the  whole  matter  with  an  axiom. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  loved  her  husband  dearly ;  knew 
there  was  nothing  he  would  not  do  for  herself  or 
Tom.  Yet  there  were  times  when  she  secretly  won- 
dered whether  the  very  best  of  men  did  not  have  a 
hard,  selfish  side. 

She  recalled  now  the  threadbare  coat,  the  shabby 
shoes,  which  Carry]  Dacres  had  worn  at  their  memo- 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  12T 

ruble  interview.  "  Ned,"  she  said,  after  a  little 
pause,  "I  am  going  to  call  on  that  young  man's 
sister.  Won't  you  find  out  to-day  where  they  live?" 

"  I  will  try  and  remember  to  ask." 

"But  you  never  will  unless  you  put  it  down  in 
your  me.1  lorandum  —  please  ?  "  She  rose,  came  over 
to  his  side,  placed  her  small  ringed  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  watched  as  he  wrote  down  her  request. 

Then  he  said,  "  There !  are  you  satisfied  ?  "  And 
he  pulled  the  delicate  pink  lobe  of  her  ear. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  smoothed  her  husband's  whiskers, 

and  looked  earnestly  in  his  face.     "  Ned,"  she  said, 

half  playfully,  half  seriously,  "  you  are  a  good  fellow 

—  the  best  fellow  in  the  world ;  but  you  don't  know 

some  things  which  a  woman  does." 


XV. 

THREE  days  later,  Mrs.  Hallo  well's  coupe*  drew  up 
before  the  house  where  the  Dacres  lived.  The  lady 
alighted,  followed  by  Tom.  It  was  more  than  an 
hour  before  they  returned. 

"  Ned,"  said  the  wife  to  her  husband  after  dinner, 
"  I  made  my  call  to-day." 

"  What  call  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hallowell,  laying  down 
his  paper,  and  settling  himself  comfortably  in  his 
arm-chair.  Tom  had  just  disappeared  for  the  night, 
leaving  his  father  and  mother  alone  in  the  alcove  of 
the  sitting-room,  to  which  they  usually  repaired  after 
dinner. 

"  You  ought  to  know,  when  you  brought  me  the 
address  so  recently.  You  were  right,  Ned ;  she  is  a 
pretty  creature." 

Mr.  Hallowell  reflected  a  moment ;  then  he  said, 
"  I  see  ;  '  she  '  stands  for  young  Dacres'  sister." 

"  Precisely." 

"  Go  on,  Emmeline." 

"  I  found  her  in  the  third  story  of  the  house  on 
Pinckney  Street.  Those  eyes  of  hers  will  be  making 
havoc  with  men's  heads  or  hearts  by  the  time  she  is 
a  year  or  two  older.  Just  now  she  hasn't  an  idea  of 
anything  of  that  sort.  I  hear  her  laugh  still ;  it  is 
the  brightest,  freshest  thing  in  the  world !  " 

128 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  129 

"  See  here !  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate  much  longer, 
you  will  make  an  old  Benedict's  month  water ! " 

"  She  wore  a  white  sacqne,  and  some  loops  of  gold 
ribbon  at  her  throat.  Nothing  could  be  simpler ; 
3ret  you  would  not  have  wanted  to  add  a  thing.  The 
room  made  me  think  of  a  little  gray  nest,  and  she 
herself  of  a  rare  bird  inside  it." 

"  What  curious  ways  you  women  do  ha,ve  of  look- 
ing at  things ! "  lazily  commented  Mr.  Hallowell,  as 
he  drew  out  his  cigar-case.  "  What  did  this  pretty 
paragon  of  yours  have  to  say  for  herself?" 

Mrs.  Hallowell's  answer  hardly  replied  to  her  hus- 
band's question,  and  seemed  half  spoken  to  herself: 
"  Think  of  their  coming  to  the  city,  nearly  two  years 
ago,  a  mere  boy  and  girl,  not  knowing  a  soul  in 
Boston ! " 

"  It  was  a  mad  thing  to  do !  "  subjoined  the  practi- 
cal business  man. 

"  Of  course  ;  but  they  pulled  through  their  trou- 
bles somehow.  That  little  girl,  with  those  quiet 
ways,  has  resolute  stuff  in  her  ;  I  saw  that." 

A  blue  ring  of  smoke  floated  in  the  warm  air. 
Mr.  Hallowell  did  not  speak  ;  but  his  wife  knew  he 
was  listening  with  a  kind  of  indolent  curiosity  to 
her  talk. 

"  We  made  a  long  call,"  she  resumed,  "more  than 
an  hour,  indeed.  Her  face  flushed  with  pleasure 
when  I  spoke  of  what  her  brother  had  done  for 
Tom.  'If  he  were  not  my  brother,  Mrs.  Hallowell,' 
she  said,  with  proud  eyes,  *  I  should  tell  you  there 
was  nothing  brave  or  noble  which  he  was  not  ready 
to  do.'  " 


130  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  That  was  very  well  put,"  rejoined  Mr.  Hallowell, 
as  one  blue  curl  of  smoke  slowly  followed  another, 
and  floated  in  the  evening  air. 

"  Oh,  she  is  wonderfully  bright !  I  said  to  her : 
'My  dear,  you  look  like  such  a  young  thing  to 
undertake  housekeeping ! ' : 

" 4  Oh,  my  housekeeping  is  little  more  than  play 
nowadays ! '  she  answered,  with  a  laugh.  '  Carryl 
and  I  regard  ourselves  as  old  veterans,  indeed.  We 
jog  on  together  as  comfortably  as  Philemon  and 
Baucis.'  " 

Mr.  Hallowell  laughed.  By  this  time  he  was  get- 
ting interested  in  the  talk. 

"  Ned,"  continued  his  wife,  earnestly,  "  those 
young  people  have  a  history.  That  girl  was  brought 
up  among  gentle  and  refined  influences.  But  all  I 
learned  was  that  her  brother  was  her  sole  living  rela- 
tive ;  that  their  mother  died  more  than  two  years 
ago ;  and  that  very  soon  afterward  they  came  to 
the  city.  One  couldn't  pry  into  their  secrets,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  She  looked  at  Tom  in  a  way  that  said  as  plainly 
as  words  she  felt  that  he  had  been  at  the  bottom  of 
a  blissful  change  in  their  fortunes.  But  I  took  care 
to  let  her  see,  before  the  visit  was  over,  that  I  felt  the 
debt  was  immensely  on  our  side." 

"  I  presume  so."  Mr.  Hallowell's  tone  implied 
that  he  did  not  wholly  concur  in  his  wife's  opinion. 

But  she  let  it  pass.  "  You  ought  to  have  seen 
Tom  ;  he  sat  still  as  a  mouse  by  my  side,  staring  at 
her  with  big,  solemn  eyes,  while  we  talked.  At 


A    BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  131 

last  I  said,  'What  makes  you  gaze  at  the  young  lady 
in  that  way,  Tom  ?  ' 

"  '  Cos  I  like  to  look  at  her !  '  he  burst  out." 

Mr.  Ilallowell  laughed  again.  "  The  young  fellow 
won't  be  so  honest,  by  a  long  shot,  a  score  of  years 
from  this  time !  " 

"  Of  course  we  had  some  fun  over  that.  When 
she  spoke  to  him,  he  went  over  to  her,  and  put  up 
his  face  to  be  kissed.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see 
their  two  heads  together." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  objected  to  seeing  that  myself." 

"  I  intend  you  shall  have  a  chance  ;  1  am  going  to 
invite  those  young  people  here  to  dinner." 

"  You  mean  to  be  a  sort  of  good  genius  to  them, 
do  you  ?  I  know  what  you  are  when  you  do  take 
people  up ! " 

An  interruption  at  that  moment  prevented  Mrs. 
Hallowell's  reply. 

At  the  same  hour  Dorrice  Dacres  was  relating  to 
her  brother  all  the  details  of  Mrs.  Hallowell's  visit. 
She  had  much  to  say  of  the  grace  and  charm  of 
the  lady,  of  the  beauty  and  pretty  ways  of  the  boy. 
But  for  some  reason,  which  she  could  not  explain  to 
herself,  she  did  not  tell  Carryl  that  when  the  fair, 
elegant  woman  held  her  hand  and  smiled  in  her  eyes 
at  parting,  she  knew  that  she  had  at  last  a  friend  in 
Boston. 

Two  days  later,  when  Carryl  returned  at  night,  his 
sister  held  before  his  astonished  eyes  a  beautiful, 
flower-shaped,  porcelain  basket,  filled  with  large,  lus- 
cious strawberries,  rimmed  with  long,  graceful  ferns. 
Fruit  and  basket  were  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Hallowell, 


132  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

whose  coachman  had  left  them  at  the  door  that  alter- 
noon. 

So  Dorrice  had  thereafter  a  lovely  ornament  —  her 
first  one  —  for  her  mantel-piece. 

But  the  young  people  did  not  visit  the  Hallowells 
that  summer.  The  heats  came  on  suddenly  ;  every- 
body who  could  hurried  to  the  seaside  or  the  moun- 
tains. 


XVI. 

Six  months  had  passed.  It  was  early  in  Novem- 
ber. The  streets  were  full  of  busy  crowds  and 
brilliant  color,  and  all  the  bright  activity  characteris- 
tic of  the  great  Northern  cities  in  the  late  autumn. 

But  the  people  just  returned  from  the  beaches  and 
the  hills  brought  with  them  no  finer  glow  of  health 
and  happiness  than  the  two  who  had  weathered  the 
summer  in  the  heart  of  Boston.  They  had  not  been 
given  to  envying  their  more  fortunate  fellow-beings. 
There  had  been  days,  of  course,  when  the  city  lay 
stifling  under  the  summer  solstice  ;  but  those  were 
the  only  days,  Dorrice  insisted,  to  find  out  just  what 
a  delicious  thing  an  east  wind  could  be. 

The  young  people  devised  their  recreations  on  a 
somewhat  original  plan ;  but  it  had  the  merit  of 
affording  them  a  great  deal  of  genuine  happiness. 

In  the  long,  fiery  days  when  business  languished, 
Carryl  could  often  leave  the  office  before  noon ;  and 
he  and  Dorrice  made  frequent  excursions  into  the 
lovely  suburbs  which  engirdle  Boston.  They  had 
delightful  trips  on  the  horse-cars,  where  the  terminus 
brought  them  within  easy  walking  distance  of  old 
woods,  cool  and  dim  with  shade,  and  full  of  all  the 
wonderful  life  and  mystery  of  the  green-leafed  mid- 
summer. They  wandered  through  the  forest  ways, 

133 


134  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

and  revived  the  beautiful  old  myths  their  mother 
had  taught  them ;  and  when  they  came  on  some  bit 
of  wild,  lovely  vista,  with  a  blue  gleam  of  gurgling 
brook  deep  in  its  heart,  they  called  it  their  Vale 
of  Tempe.  They  gathered  wild  flowers  and  ferns 
and  bits  of  rare,  bright-colored  fungi  to  brighten 
their  home.  Dorrice  knew  how  to  make  the  most 
of  her  wood-treasures;  and  it  was  marvellous 
to  see  the  effects  she  contrived  to  get  out  of 
some  velvety  mosses  with  red-berried  vines  trailing 
across  them. 

Sometimes  the  young  people  chose  deep,  grassy 
lanes  and  winding  old  country  roads  to  wander 
among;  and  as  Dorrice  drank  in  the  wide,  lovely 
stillness  about  her,  she  would  say:  "One  almost  ex- 
pects to  see  a  hamadryad  gliding  among  the  trees.  It 
seems  as  though  we  must  be  miles  and  miles  from  a 
hamlet,  even." 

"While  the  next  rise  of  ground  will  be  pretty 
certain  to  spoil  your  romance,  and  bring  us  within 
sight  of  the  steeples  and  the  old  dome  of  the  State 
House,"  laughed  Carryl. 

At  another  time  they  would  change  their  pro- 
gramme, and  set  out  in  search  of  some  high  point, 
where  they  could  gain  wide  horizons  and  far-reach- 
ing landscapes.  They  had  glimpses  of  the  blue 
harbor,  the  green  islands,  the  beautiful  suburbs,  from 
Corey  and  Milton  Hills  and  Arlington  Heights. 
They  brought  down  from  those  fair,  breezy  outlooks 
glowing  color  and  bounding  pulse,  while  the  joyous 
days  were  rounded  with  nights  of  youth's  perfect 
sleep. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  135 

But  the  gay  little  larks  into  the  country  were 
only  frequent  breaks  in  the  summer.  It  was  a 
religion  with  the  two  to  take  up  their  life  where 
their  mother  had  left  it  — "  piece  it  right  on,"  as 
Carryl  expressed  it. 

They  came,  on  the  maternal  side,  of  a  race  of 
scholars;  and  swift  aptitudes  for  acquiring  knowl- 
edge were  a  part  of  their  heredity.  The  mother  had 
done  her  work  with  the  children  before  she  left  them. 
She  had  been  brought  up  by  her  father  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  study ;  and  in  the  training  of  her  boy  and 
girl  she  had  followed  the  traditions  of  her  own  life. 
When  this  had  been  darkened  by  widowhood,  and 
later  by  griefs  before  which  even  that  pang  seemed  a 
light  one,  Mrs.  Dacres'  greatest  solace  had  been  the 
education  of  her  children.  Their  young  lives  had 
been  nursed  on  the  classics  and  on  English  literature. 
They  were  only  following  their  natural  bent  when 
they  resumed  the  studies  which  had  been  intermitted 
since  they  came  to  the  city.  They  read  and  recited 
to  each  other  with  the  old  zest.  The  Public  Library 
was  always  at  command ;  and  when  a  text-book  occa- 
sionally became  indispensable,  Carryl  knew  where  to 
find  it  at  some  cheap  book-stall.  So  Don-ice  carolled 
her  lessons,  as  she  arranged  her  rooms.  And  when, 
at  last,  the  days  had  begun  to  shorten,  and  there  was 
a  frosty  chill  in  the  air,  she  said  to  her  brother,  with 
eyes  that  joyfully  emphasized  her  words,  "  Whatever 
the  summer  may  have  been  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
it  has  been  a  happy  one  to  you  and  me,  Carryl." 

"  Yes,  you  dear  old  girl ;  we  have  managed  to 
enjoy  it  hugely." 


136  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

It  would  have  been  evident  to  one  well  acquainted 
with  the  brother  and  sister,  that  something  in  the 
nature  of  an  agreeable  surprise  had  happened  to 
them  one  night,  soon  after  November  had  come  in. 
A  note  in  a  dainty  envelope  on  the  table  would  have 
explained  the  mystery.  Mrs.  Hallowell's  coachman 
had  left  an  invitation  that  afternoon  for  the  two  to 
dine  with  them  on  the  following  evening. 

"  What  a  mercy  it  was,"  exclaimed  Dorrice,  "  that 
I  got  that  ash-colored  cashmere  instead  of  a  thin 
dress !  I  knew  it  would  carry  me  later  into  the  fall ; 
and  it  was  such  an  irresistible  bargain,  too.  Can 
you  imagine  my  surprise  when  I  read  that  note? 
Mrs.  Hallowell  does  not  forget  what  you  did  for 
Tom." 

"  She  might  easily  feel  all  that  had  been  paid  for." 

"  That  would  depend  upon  the  kind  of  woman  she 
is."  Dorrice  would  not  underrate  her  brother's 
deed. 

Mrs.  Hallowell's  young  guests  naturally  felt  some 
shyness  as  they  entered  the  elegant  home  that  even- 
ing; but  their  hostess'  cordial  manner  soon  placed 
them  at  their  ease. 

Carryl's  suit  was  all  the  occasion  required.  His 
sister's  head  rose,  flower-like,  from  the  crepe  lisse  that 
encircled  her  white  young  throat.  The  soft  cash- 
mere folds,  of  a  tint  nearer  ashes-of-roses  than  any- 
thing else,  clung  close  to  her  girlish  slenderness. 
She  needed  no  further  color,  with  the  clearness  of 
her  olive  skin,  with  her  brown,  luminous  eyes,  and 
the  hair  whose  dark  abundance  was  gathered  low  at 
the  back  of  her  graceful-shaped  head,  and  which 


A   BOSTON    GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  137 

shaded  her  forehead  with  clusters  of  auburn  tendrils, 
touched  with  gold. 

There  were  no  other  guests,  so  the  dinner  was  a 
pleasant,  informal  affair,  where  the  young  people 
were  fully  equal  to  their  share  in  the  talk,  and  said, 
Mrs.  Hallowell  thought,  some  of  the  brightest  things 
that  had  ever  been  heard  at  that  board. 

Her  husband,  too,  unbent  himself  at  his  own  table; 
and  the  host,  with  his  affable  bearing  and  amusing 
jokes,  was  quite  another  person  than  the  curt,  ab- 
sorbed business  man  whom  Carry  1  knew  in  his  office. 
Indeed,  it  was  rather  surprising  that  they  all  had  so 
much  common  ground  of  talk. 

The  dinner  was  followed  by  some  pleasant  hours, 
after  they  adjourned  to  the  sitting-room.  Here 
Tom's  admiration  for  Dorrice  displayed  itself  in  the 
most  undisguised  fashion.  He  installed  himself 
close  to  her  side,  drinking  in  every  look  and  word ; 
and  in  a  little  while  she  drew  him  out  of  his  shell, 
and  he  chattered  away  briskly  in  his  pretty,  lisping 
vernacular. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  young  guests  were  shown 
some  fine  pictures  and  some  rare  pottery.  Mrs.  Hal- 
lowell and  Dorrice  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  to  them- 
selves ;  so  had  her  husband  and  Carryl.  The  young 
people  went  home  at  last  in  the  coupe*.  The  evening 
had  been  a  novel  pleasure  to  all  concerned.  Even 
Mr.  Hallowell  condescended  to  say  "it  has  been 
vastly  pleasanter  than  being  bored  at  some  of  your 
swell  parties." 

After  that,  there  was  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Hallowell 
had  the  interests  of  Carryl  Dacres  and  his  sister  at 


138  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

heart.  A  woman  in  her  place  had  it  in  her  power, 
if  she  so  willed,  to  be  of  much  service  to  the  young 
people.  Mrs.  Hallowell  was  this,  in  many  simple, 
graceful  ways,  which  never  permitted  them  to  feel 
any  weight  of  obligation.  She  sent  frequent  gifts  of 
flowers,  that  brightened  the  pretty  gray  nest  with 
bloom  and  fragrance.  She  often  left  tickets  to  lect- 
ures, musicales,  matinees.  When  great  actors  and 
prima-donnas,  with  their  world-wide  fame,  visited 
Boston,  she  took  care  that  her  young  friends  should 
hear  them.  She  gladdened  their  lives  with  much 
they  must  otherwise  have  missed,  and  she  always  did 
this  with  womanly  tact  and  graciousness. 

But  the  favor  was  not  altogether  on  one  side.  It 
was  impossible  to  know  Dorrice  Dacres  without  lov- 
ing her ;  and  it  did  the  woman  of  the  world  good  to 
be  brought  in  frequent  contact  with  that  young,  fine 
nature.  One  day,  after  returning  from  a  call  at 
Pinckney  Street,  Mrs.  Hallowell  said  seriously  to  her 
husband :  "  I  believe,  Ned,  if  I  were  forced  to  con- 
fess whom  I  thought  the  happiest  person  in  Boston, 
it  would  be  that  young  girl  who  comes  to  meet  me 
with  such  gladness  in  her  great  brown  eyes.  It  seems 
almost  worth  living  in  an  upper  story  and  on  eight 
hundred  dollars  a  year  to  look  like  that." 

"  Well,  I  intend  to  make  it  a  thousand  next  year. 
That  can't  be  a  sufficient  advance  in  their  fortunes 
to  make  them  miserable  !  " 


XVII. 

A  YEAR  had  passed  since  Carryl  and  Dorrice 
Dacres  came  to  Pinckney  Street.  It  had  been  a 
swift,  happy,  crowded  year.  It  had  wrought  some 
change  in  each.  The  down  on  Carryl's  cheek  was 
thicker  and  darker,  and. he,  as  well  as  his  sister,  had 
gained  some  inches  in  height.  The  dark,  handsome 
youth,  and  the  girl,  blooming  into  slender  maiden- 
hood, were  having  the  merriest  of  times  at  the  close 
of  the  May  day. 

A  surprise,  which  Dorrice  had  been  weeks  in  pre- 
paring, had  geeeted  Carryl's  eyes  as  he  crossed  the 
door-sill  that  night.  For  the  moment  he  was  almost 
as  much  bewildered  as  Glaucus  when  he  first  en- 
tered the  grotto  of  the  sea-nymphs. 

For  the  room  had,  since  morning,  undergone  a 
magic  transformation.  It  was  a  dim-colored  bou- 
doir, lovely  enough  for  a  princess,  with  its  portieres 
and  window  and  mantel  lambrequins  of  a  rich, 
dull  red  tint,  bordered  with  golden  pomegranates  — 
fruit  and  flower  in  a  light-running  Kensington 
stitch. 

As  Carryl  stared  about  him,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
radiant  face  between  the  portieres  that  separated  the 
two  rooms ;  a  pair  of  great  eyes,  alive  with  happy 
mischief,  were  watching  him.  With  one  bound  he 

139 


140  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

reached  the  girl,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  set  her 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Now,  Dorrice  Dacres,  if  you  have  any  regard  for 
your  life,  tell  me  what  this  means  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Doesn't  it  speak  for  itself?"  Her  proud,  happy 
glance  swept  over  the  room.  "  You  saw  it  all  while 
it  was  preparing.  I  got  a  woman  to  help  me  hang 
the  things  to-day.  It  only  took  her  an  hour.  I  did 
all  the  rest  myself.  I  wanted  to  give  you  a  little 
surprise  to-night." 

"  I  should  think  you  did,  with  a  vengeance ! 
Where  —  if  a  fellow  may  venture  to  ask  —  did  those 
lace  curtains  come  from  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !  You  haven't  seen  those.  They 
came  out  of  a  little  brown  purse  that  is  growing 
shabbier  every  day,  but  that  has  got  to  do  service 
for  many  a  one  yet!  Isn't  the  pattern  charming? 
It's  only  Nottingham  lace,  and  I  got  them  at  the 
most  astonishing  bargain." 

Carryl  had  known  that  the  portieres  were  in  some 
phase  of  what  he  supposed  must  be  their  long  com- 
pletion. It  was  not  possible  to  keep  that  secret  from 
him.  During  the  evenings,  when  the  lessons  were 
in  process,  Don-ice's  needle  had  been  busy  with  her 
embroidery.  She  had  come,  by  the  merest  accident, 
one  day,  on  a  heap  of  slightly  damaged  stuff  in  silks 
and  wools.  Among  the  goods  were  some  yards  of 
dark,  rich,  reddish  fabric.  Her  native  taste  detected 
at  a  glance  its  artistic  possibilities.  She  did  not  in- 
quire the  price  even,  not  dreaming  it  would  come 
within  the  reach  of  her  slender  finances ;  but,  as  she 
was  turning  away,  the  salesman  named  it  to  a  lady 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  141 

who  was  looking  over  the  goods.  Dorrice  went 
back  and  inspected  the  stuff.  Its  purchase  would 
involve  some  sacrifices  on  her  part,  but  she  was  used 
to  those,  and  she  told  herself  the  portieres  would  be 
a  joy  forever. 

So  she  secured  her  bargain,  and,  a  month  later,  its 
rich,  dull  hues,  bordered  with  the  light-running 
pomegranates,  fell  against  the  gray  walls,  and  filled 
the  room  with  a  soft,  exquisite  glow  like  the  reflec- 
tion of  a  pink  sunset. 

"  It  does  seem  like  old  Prospero's  wand  this  time, 
for  sure  !  "  said  Carryl,  his  gaze,  having  at  last  drunk 
in  the  delicious  surprise  of  form  and  color,  coming 
back  to  his  sister's  face.  "  I  believe  you  are  a  kind 
of  witch,  Dorrice." 

A  gay,  confident  little  toss  of  the  head  answered 
•him.  "  Of  course  I  am,  and  you  have  just  found  it 
%>ut,  you  poor,  slow  old  fellow !  But  witches  are  to 
be  feared,  as  well  as  admired !  It  isn't  safe  to  snub 
them  on  occasion,  and  treat  them  in  your  cool,  mas- 
culine fashion." 

"  I  will  be  amiable  from  this  hour.  But  where 
have  you  found  the  time  to  get  through  with  such  a 
huge  job?  When  you  talked  of  embroidering  the 
portieres,  I  confess  it  seemed  to  me  Penelope's  web 
over  again ! " 

"Oh,  you  horrid  boy!  But  of  course  you  could 
know  nothing  of  Kensington  stitch,  nor  how  one's 
needle  just  races  over  the  ground." 

"  No ;  a  fellow  can't  gush  over  these  thing  like  a 
gir.1,  you  know,  but  he  can  see  and  feel  when  a  thing 
is  pretty." 


142  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  Oh,  Carryl,  the  best  of  it  all  is  seeing  the  pleas- 
ure it  gives  you  !  " 

A  little  later,  Dorrice  said  to  her  brother :  "  You 
remember  that  first  night  after  we  came  here,  and 
those  lovely  things  I  saw  in  the  future  ?  " 

"Don't  I?  And  the  game  I  made  of  you.  In 
the  presence  of  these"  —bowing  to  the  portieres 
with  mock  gravity  —  "I  beg  your  pardon  !  " 

The  young  people  had  tried  to  make  the  most  of 
this  year.  Indeed,  the  great  trouble  was  that  the 
days  and  nights  were  not  long  enough  for  the  tasks 
that  crowded  them. 

Mr.  Hallowell  was  one  of  the  Athenaeum  stock- 
holders, and,  through  him,  its  libraries  were  opened 
to  the  office  clerk  and  his  sister. 

There,  too,  was  the  Art  Museum,  for  which  they 
sometimes  managed  to  secure  half  a  day,  when  they 
wandered  amid  a  world  of  lovely  form  and  color 
which  educated  their  tastes,  and  enlarged  their  men- 
tal horizons. 

"  Boston  is  a  good  place  for  poor  people  to  live 
in ! "  Dorrice  would  sometimes  say  to  her  brother,  in 
her  serious  way. 

"That  is  true.  You  and  I  will  always  be  grateful 
to  the  old  city  for  being  a  kind  of  Alma  Mater  to  us. 
Sometimes,  when  I  go  about  the  narrow,  crowded 
streets,  that  line  of  Emerson's  steals  up,  and  throws  a 
sort  of  glamor  over  things :  — 

'  Thou  darling  town  of  ours.' 

That  is  a  bit  of   sentiment   with    which    the    office 
clerk  of  Hallowell,  Howth,  and  Company  has  no  busi- 


A    BOSTON    GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  143 

ness,"  added  Carryl,  with  a  laugh  that  was  not 
wholly  gay.  "  By  the  bye,  shall  I  get  tickets  for 
the  next  Lowell  course  ?  " 

"We  can't  lose  those."  She  glanced  regretfully 
at  some  volumes  that  lay  on  the  table.  "  The  books 
must  wait." 

Among  the  habits  of  their  childhood  which  the 
two  kept  up,  was  one  of  having  "  the  best  book  last," 
-  the  few  Bible  verses  before  bedtime ;  and  the 
sweet,  soft  tones  of  a  voice  whose  echoes  would  lin- 
ger in  their  memory  until  all  voices  were  silent  for 
them,  still  hovered  along  the  words  of  some  tender 
psalm,  some  precious  promise  of  the  Gospels. 

Soon  after  they  came  to  Pinckney  Street,  Dorrice 
had  inaugurated  another  change  in  the  domestic 
routine.  She  now  prepared  their  simple  breakfasts, 
and,  in  the  evening,  she  and  Carryl  dined  at  a  quiet 
refectory  in  the  neighborhood. 

In  the  morning  she  frequently  accompanied  Car- 
ryl part  of  the  way  to  the  office.  She  enjoyed  the 
cool,  sparkling  air,  the  sight  and  sounds  of  the  great 
city,  rousing  itself  to  the  life  of  another  day.  Some- 
times they  would  go  to  the  foot  of  Pinckney  Street, 
for  a  nearer  view  of  Charles  River.  They  liked  to 
watch  the  tossing  of  waves  —  gray,  with  glints  of 
silver  on  their  crests,  and  glimmers  of  beryl-green  in 
their  troughs. 

Then  they  found  minutes  to  spare  for  the  Public 
Garden.  They  saw  the  tulips  in  all  their  glory ; 
a  blaze  of  color  that  rivalled  the  sunsets ;  they  lin- 
gered by  the  Pond,  or  among  the  brown  paths, 
cooled  with  dews,  and  flecked  with  shadows. 


144  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

For  a  long  while  Dorrice  had  secretly  brooded 
over  a  project  which  had  attractions  for  her  in  more 
ways  than  one.  She  kept  a  practical  aim  in  view  in 
all  her  studies ;  she  attended  a  course  of  lectures  on 
the  kindergarten  system ;  she  seized  with  happy  in- 
tuition, the  spirit  of  its  methods.  Something  of  the 
old  college  President  was  awake  at  this  time  in  the 
soul  of  his  young  granddaughter. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  was  the  first  person  in  whom  Dor- 
rice  confided.  The  lady  learned,  with  some  surprise, 
that  it  was  the  girl's  supreme  ambition  to  have  a  few 
small  pupils  each  day,  whom  she  could  instruct  in 
the  elementary  branches. 

"But  what  does  your  brother  say  to  all  this?" 
was  Mrs.  Hallowell's  first  question. 

"  Oh,  he  knows  nothing  about  it  yet ;  he  will  be 
sure  to  oppose  it  strenuously,  at  first.  But  I  shall 
bring  him  round,"  with  her  little,  half  playful,  half 
confident  toss  of  the  head.  "This  is  no  sudden 
fancy  of  mine.  I  have  thought  about  it  —  dreamed 
about  it,  a  long  while.  Why  shouldn't  I?  I  have 
the  time ;  I  adore  children ;  it  will  all  be  mere  play 
to  me,  and  then  —  " 

"Well,  go  on,  Dorrice."  The  familiar  address 
had  long  ago  become  a  habit. 

"  Really,  there  are  some  things  for  which  I  want  a 
little  more  money  than  Carryl  can  afford  me." 

"  You  dear  child  !  " 

"Then  you  don't  regard  my  plan  as  altogether 
absurd  ?  " 

"  N-o ;  at  least,  I  shall  be  glad  if  it  succeeds. 
There  is  Tom,  now.  You  know  how  fond  he  is  of 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  145 

you.  I  should  like  to  feel  that  he  was  safe  out  of 
mischief  in  your  hands  for  some  hours  each  morning. 
Then  she  added,  reflectively,  "  I  might  be  able  to  get 
you  two  or  three  more  scholars.  When  do  you  want 
to  begin  ?  " 

"Any  time.     To-morrow ! " 


XVIII. 

IT  was  a   large,  white,  green-blinded,  two-storied 
farm-house.     There  was  a  narrow  portico  in  front  — 
a  wide  piazza  at  the  side.     It  was  precisely  the  sort 
of  homestead  in  which,  half  a  century  ago,  a  thrifty 
farmer  would  have  sat  down  contented  among  his 
Lares  and  Penates.     A  row  of  fine  old  cherry-trees 
stood  along  the  neat  picket  fence.     The  narrow  walk 
that  ran  from  the  front  gate  to  the  portico  was  bor- 
dered  on    either    side    by   old-fashioned    flowers  — 
sweetwilliams,  marigolds,  pinks,  and  peonies. 

The  robins  sang  in  the  cherry-trees.  The  winds 
frolicked  in  the  grass.  The  June  morning  lay  in  all 
its  wide,  sunny  loveliness  before  the  eyes  of  the  man 
who  sat  at  the  front  window  and  regarded  the  scene 
with  grave,  wistful  eyes. 

It  had  been  a  familiar  one  to  him  all  his  life ;  for 
this  had  been  passed  in  Foxlow,  the  pretty  agri- 
cultural hamlet,  which  lay  in  a  wide  valley,  shaped 
like  a  shallow  trough,  among  the  hills  of  western 
Massachusetts.  In  this  hamlet,  Deacon  Samuel  Spin- 
ner had  first  seen  the  light,  sixty-five  years  ago  that 
very  summer. 

At  last  his  slow  gaze  moved  off  to  the  thickly 
wooded  hills  which  bounded  the  horizon  ;  he  had 

146 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  147 

climbed  to  their  summits  in  his  boyhood,  and  knew 
just  where  the  sweep  of  the  Hudson  made  a  wide 
purplish-brown  glitter  in  the  landscape  on  the  west ; 
and  how,  beyond  that,  rose,  far  and  dim,  the  gray- 
blue  outline  of  the  Catskills. 

The  familiar  scene  had  a  charm  in  the  eyes  of  the 
elderly  man  which  they  had  never  perceived  in  it 
before.  The  reason  was  not  far  to  seek.  Deacon 
Spinner  had  come  down  stairs  that  morning  after  a 
long  illness,  which  had  brought  him  to  the  borders 
of  the  grave.  All  the  old  homely  scenes  had  a  new 
meaning  and  preciousness  to  him. 

He  was  a  man  slow  of  ideas,  of  movement,  of 
speech,  he  had  a  large,  heavily  built  frame;  his 
smooth,  square  face  had  a  semi-circle  of  thin  gray 
whiskers  ;  his  light  blue  eyes  had  a  simple  honesty 
of  expression.  The  iron-gray  hair,  like  the  whis- 
kers, was  scant.  There  was  a  wide  space  where  it 
had  fallen  off,  leaving  a  shining  baldness  above  the 
forehead. 

In  the  hall  outside,  a  sound  of  swift  feet  preceded 
the  entrance  of  the  deacon's  wife ;  she  was  in  every 
respect  the  antipodes  of  her  husband  —  a  small, 
spare  women,  with  keen  black  eyes,  and  thin  lips, 
that  had  a  hint  of  shrewishness,  until  they  broke 
into  a  cheery  smile.  She  must  have  been  a  pretty 
girl ;  she  made  you  think  of  an  apple,  sound  and 
juicy  at  the  core,  though  the  frosts  may  have  a  little 
puckered  the  skin.  If  the  deacon  never  did  any- 
thing in  a  hurry,  it  was  certain  that  his  nimble 
spouse  would  never  be  slow,  when  it  came  to  speech 
or  action. 


148  A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS. 

The  long,  perilous  illness  through  which  she  had 
nursed  her  husband  had  aroused  all  the  latent  ten- 
derness of  the  wife.  Brought  back  from  the  borders 
of  the  grave,  the  slow,  silent  man  seemed  once  more 
the  lover  of  her  youth. 

She  hurried  up  to  him  now,  smoothed  his  pillow, 
out  of  that  habit  of  small  attentions  which  had 
grown  during  his  illness ;  then,  dropping  into  a 
chair,  she  regarded  him  with  eyes  of  pleased  af- 
fection. 

"Samwel,"  she  said,  in  her  thin,  rather  rapid 
voice,  "  you  can't  think  how  good  it  does  seem  to  see 
you  looking  like  your  old  self ! " 

He  smiled  on  the  little  woman  in  his  lymphatic 
way.  "  It  seems  good  to  be  downstairs  once  more, 
and  lookin'  on  old  things,"  he  replied,  in  his  slow, 
woolly  sort  of  voice. 

"  I'm  thankful  you  had  such  a  day  to  be  round  for 
the  first  time,  and  enjoy  the  sight  of  outdoors," 
added  Mrs.  Spinner,  with  a  little  nod  of  her  head, 
meant  to  include  all  outside. 

The  light  blue  eyes  kindled  with  pleasure.  "I 
never  see  a  pootier  June  mornin',"  said  the  slow, 
woolly  voice  again.  "It  makes  me  think  of  the 
times  when  I  was  a  boy." 

Then  the  two  were  silent  a  while,  and  the  birds 
sang  in  the  cherry-trees,  and  the  wind  brought  the 
scent  of  the  brier-roses  into  the  window. 

Deacon  Spinner  looked  at  his  wife,  and  his  big 
fingers  moved  restlessly  over  the  blanket  she  had 
laid  across  his  knees.  Her  keen  black  eyes  grew 
soft,  as  she  observed  various  traces  of  the  fever 


A   BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  149 

which  had  stricken  down  the  strong  man  to  the 
helplessness  of  an  infant.  She  perceived  that  some- 
thing was  on  his  mind ;  something  that  did  not 
easily  take  the  form  of  speech. 

She  laid  her  thin,  dark  hand  on  his  large  one. 
"  Well,  Samwel,"  she  said,  encouragingly,  almost  as 
a  mother  might  to  a  child  whom  she  was  teaching  to 
talk. 

"  Rachel ! " 

"  Yes,  Samwel." 

"A  man  sort  o'  sees  things  with  different  eyes 
when  he  lies  on  a  bed  o'  sickness.  I  couldn't  'a' 
closed  mine  in  peace,  seein'  I  hadn't  done  my  whole 
duty  by  them  that  wasn't  my  own  flesh  and  blood." 

The  slow  voice,  the  solemn  look  of  the  big,  bucolic 
face,  gave  a  peculiar  effect  to  these  words. 

Mrs.  Spinner  looked  startled  and  anxious.  The 
drift  of  her  husband's  speech  was  evident  enough 
now  ;  but  she  thought  best  to  ignore  it. 

"  Samwel,"  she  replied,  "  it  al'ays  was  my  belief 
you'd  come  up  all  right  raisin'  day." 

Had  not  Deacon  Spinner  been  brought  to  death's 
door,  his  wife  would  never  have  made  this  confes- 
sion. The  slow,  lymphatic  man  often  irritated  his 
nervous,  energetic  partner  ;  and  when  her  temper 
was  rasped,  she  had  a  habit  of  "  freeing  her  mind," 
in  terms  as  decided  as  they  were  uncomplimentary. 
But  the  deacon,  who  was  usually  pachyderm  to  her 
reproaches,  showed  himself  equally  unmoved  by  her 
praises. 

This  time  his  speech  went  straight  to  the  mark. 
"That  motherless  boy  and  girl  was  sort  o'  left  on  our 
hands,  Rachel." 


150  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  It  can't  be  laid  to  your  door  that  they  was  so 
sot  on  goin'  to  the  city  ! "  There  was  a  touch  of 
asperity  in  her  voice  this  time. 

The  big  fingers  fumbled  again  at  the  blanket. 
"There's  the  rub,  Rachel ";  his  tones  had  a  sharp 
accent  of  remorse.  "  I*  ought  to  'a'  sot  my  foot 
down." 

"  It  ain't  so  easy  doin'  that,  with  other  folks'  chil- 
dren !  "  This  time  something  in  Mrs.  Spinner's  tone 
showed  she  was  not  merely  replying  to  her  husband, 
but  to  some  inward  monition  that  made  her  uneasy. 
"Them  young  things  had  powerful  wills  o'  their 
own,  in  a  quiet  way.  You  know,  too,  Miss  Dacres' 
mind  was  al'ays  bent  on  their  goin'  to  Boston  some 
day." 

"  It  was  that  onsettled  me  when  it  came  to  arguin' 
with  'em.  They  al'ays  brought  her  up  —  at  least, 
the  boy  did,  and  the  girl  would  'a'  followed  him, 
without  a  question,  to  the  ends  o'  the  earth.  But  I 
ought  to  'a'  stood  out." 

"  We  thought  it  was  best  to  let  'em  have  their 
rope,  and  try  goin'  off  on  their  own  hook."  In  her 
eagerness  to  justify  herself  to  her  own  conscience, 
Mrs.  Spinner's  metaphors  rather  jostled  each  other. 
"We  reckoned  fully  on  their  comin'-back,  when  they 
got  their  fill  o'  new  sights,  or  their  means  give  out. 
Young  as  they  was,  they  was  keen  as  briers,  and, 
come  to  the  pinch,  could  look  out  for  themselves, 
equal  to  man  or  woman.  It  struck  me,  if  they  found 
out  Foxlow  wasn't  jest  the  worst  place  in  the  world, 
they'd  be  more  likely  to  settle  down  here  content, 
and  it's  cert'in,  as  you  told  'em  more  than  once, 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  151 

they'd  never  want  for  a  home  while  we  had  a  roof 
over  our  heads." 

Mrs.  Spinner  had,  in  this  last  confession,  touched 
the  heart  of  the  matter;  but  she  was  hardly  con- 
scious herself  how  deeply  she  had  resented  the  fact 
that  Boston  should  be  presumed  to  enjoy  any  supe- 
riority over  Foxlow. 

The  deacon  shook  his  head  disapprovingly.  "  That 
wasn't  the  way  to  reason,  Rachel.  If  any  harm  be- 
fell them  children  —  they  wasn't  much  more  —  I 
shouldn't  want  to  answer  for  it  to  their  mother.  I 
seemed  to  see  her  standin'  afore  me,  with  that  pale, 
pretty  face  o'  hern,  when  T  lay  upstairs.  It  appeared 
to  me  she  was  askin'  about  her  children." 

Mrs.  Spinner  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair.  The 
tears  came  into  her  eyes.  "  You  or  I  wouldn't  have 
harmed  a  hair  of  their  heads,  and  you  know  it,  Sam- 
wel  Spinner !  "  she  said,  fervently.  "  Haven't  you 
writ  and  writ  ?  " 

"'T'aint  likely  a  letter  ever  reached  'em,  when 
'twas  sent  to  Boston  in  a  gin'ral  way.  I'd  no  means 
o'  knowin'  where  to  direct." 

"  Well,  I'm  ready  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it," 
resumed  the  wife.  "  I've  had  my  turn,  too,  of  lyin' 
awake  nights,  worry  in'  about  'em.  There  was  little 
Dorrice,  with  her  mother's  big  eyes,  and  a  face 
that  al'ays  made  me  think  of  one  of  my  pink  roses. 
That  Miss  Dacres,  with  her  soft  voice,  and  her 
gentle  ways,  had  had  a  blow  some  time.  I  sensed  as 
much  the  fust  time  I  put  eyes  on  her.  But  she  was 
mum  as  the  grave.  She  wasn't  the  kind  that  makes 
you  feel  free  to  ask  questions." 


152  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"If  she  hadn't  dropped  off  so  sudden,  we  should 
have  known  more  about  her  plans.  She  had  'em  all 
cut  and  dried  —  I  feel  sure  o'  that,  by  some  hints  she 
let  fall ;  but  she'd  no  more  idee  than  the  rest  of  us 
that  her  end  was  so  nigh." 

*  You  fixed  up  all  their  affairs,  as  though  they'd 
been  your  own,"  remarked  the  wife,  seeking  to  offer 
some  crumb  of  consolation. 

"  Yes ;  my  conscience  can't  reproach  me  on  that 
score,"  responded  the  deacon,  in  a  more  animated 
tone.  "  I  drove  a  sharper  bargain  for  them  children 
than  I  would  for  myself.  After  all  expenses  was 
settled  up,  there  was  a  nice  little  sum  left  over.  It 
lies  in  the  bank  waitin'  for  'em  now. " 

"I  hope  to  the  Lord  that  little  brown-headed 
Dorrice,  putty  creatur' !  ain't  come  to  any  grief," 
added  Mrs.  Spinner,  with  a  certain  trembling  of  her 
voice  and  lips. 

So  the  childless  couple  talked  together,  while,  out- 
side, the  birds  sang  in  the  cherry-boughs,  as  though 
there  was  not  such  a  thing  as  care  or  sorrow  in  all 
the  beautiful  June  world. 

At  last  the  deacon  said,  with  a  voice  and  look  of 
unusual  decision,  "Wife,  there  is  one  thing  I  am 
going  to  do,  when  I  get  well.  I  promised  the  Lord 
that,  on  my  sick  bed." 

"What  is  that,  Samwel?"  leaning  forward,  im- 
pressed and  curious. 

"  I'm  just  going  to  make  a  trip  to  Boston,  to  hunt 
up  them  children !  I've  never  been  there,  you  know, 
and  I  mayn't  succeed,  but  I'm  bound  to  try." 


XIX. 

MORE  than  two  years  have  passed  since  Carryl  and 
Dorrice  Dacres  came  to  live  on  Pinckney  Street. 
The  last  one  has,  like  its  predecessor,  been  full  of 
swift,  happy  days  —  days  crowded  with  activities, 
wholesome  for  mind  and  body.  Had  the  old  legend 
come  true,  had  one  of  those  kindly  geniuses  who  were 
once  supposed  to  wait  on  human  lives  stood  at  the 
door,  bearing  gifts  of  all  good  fortunes  for  the  two, 
I  think  he  might  have  paused  doubtful  on  the 
threshold,  and  perhaps,  in  the  end,  have  stolen  down 
the  stairs  and  left  the  brother  and  sister  to  them- 
selves, not  daring  to  touch  their  lives  to  wider  issues. 

There  is  little  to  dwell  on  in  this  vanished  twelve- 
month ;  yet  it  was  to  prove  a  great  shaping  power 
in  the  lives  of  the  two,  who  were  passing  into 
young  manhood  and  womanhood.  They  did  their 
work,  they  kept  up  their  studies,  with  the  zest  of 
youth,  when  every  faculty  is  alert  for  knowledge. 
They  enjoyed  to  the  full  every  pleasure  that  came 
into  their  lives,  because  these  were  not  so  abundant 
as  to  pall  upon  soul  or  sense. 

With  growing  knowledge  of  the  business,  Carryl's 
salary  had  increased,  not  largely,  but  still  enough  to 
admit  of  various  agreeable  changes  in  their  home 
life. 

153 


154  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Dorrice  had  carried  her  point  about  the  school,  not 
without  a  struggle.  When  she  first  broached  the 
subject  to  Carryl,  she  was  met  by  a  peremptory  neg- 
ative. Their  disagreement  on  this  subject  had  been 
the  sharpest  of  their  lives.  Carryl  insisted  that  his 
sister  had  plenty  to  do,  and  that  she  should  not  add 
a  feather's  weight  to  her  present  burdens. 

"  I  have  been  a  poor  stick  of  a  brother,  I  know," 
he  would  say,  his  remorse  cropping  out,  as  he  recalled 
the  privations  and  sufferings  she  had  endured,  and 
which  he  was  always  fearing  had  undermined  her 
health.  "  But  you  shall  have  a  smooth  life,  if  I  can 
make  it  for  you,  one  of  these  days." 

"  I  am  having  one  now,  Carryl ;  but  I  don't  want 
it  to  be  also  an  indolent,  useless  one.  Why  can't 
you  be  sensible?" 

"I  see  where  the  trouble  is,"  he  would  reply, 
moodily.  "You  don't  have  the  things  you  want; 
you  think  this  is  the  way  to  get  them.  Be  brave  a 
little  longer,  Dorrice." 

Speeches  of  this  sort  hurt  her  more  than  all  his 
unreasonable  obstinacy,  as  she  called  it.  The  differ- 
ence between  them  was  getting  serious,  when  her 
heart  and  her  good  sense  came  to  the  rescue  one 
night,  after  a  discussion  in  which  there  had  been 
some  display  of  temper  on  both  sides.  Dorrice  went 
to  her  brother,  laid  her  cheek  against  his,  and  said  : 
"Don't  let  us  quarrel,  dear.  Are  we  not  all  the 
world  to  each  other?  I  won't  say  another  word 
about  the  school." 

And  she  did  not  —  for  a  week.  But  Dorrice  knew 
her  brother.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  he  said,  most 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  155 

ungraciously :  "  If  you  are  still  pining  for  that  ex- 
periment of  school-teaching,  go  in  and  try.  But  you 
may  make  up  your  mind  to  one  thing  :  The  instant 
I  see  the  first  sign  of  its  wearing  on  you,  I  shall 
hustle  every  mother's  kid  out  of  doors,  and  lock  you 
up  into  the  bargain." 

Tom  Hallowell  was  her  first  pupil.  His  mother's 
influence  secured  half  a  dozen  others,  —  boys  and 
girls,  —  who  came  for  a  three  hours'  session,  brighten- 
ing the  rooms  with  their  small  curly  heads  and  sweet 
child-faces.  The  young  teacher  had  a  gift  of  walk- 
ing straight  into  her  young  pupils'  hearts. 

They  did  Dorrice  good,  too,  by  bringing  fresh  in- 
terests and  affections  into  her  life. 

"  It  is  such  delightful  work.  Really,  it  is  playing 
school,"  she  said,  with  her  bright  glance,  to  Mrs. 
Hallowell. 

"  I  see  it  agrees  with  you,  my  dear.  I  must  own 
it  would  be  a  horrible  bore  to  me ;  but  it  is  a  real 
comfort  to  have  Tom  off  my  hands  and  safe  in  yours 
three  hours  each  day." 

The  young  teacher  had  inherited  a  gift  for  arous- 
ing the  interests  and  unfolding  the  faculties  of  her 
small  pupils.  Their  rapid  mental  progress  was  fre- 
quently a  surprise  to  the  home  authorities. 

The  income  from  the  small  school  was  an  agreeable 
supplement  to  Carryl's  salary.  Among  other  things, 
it  afforded  Dorrice  some  new  decorations  for  her 
rooms.  But  she  introduced  her  high  colors  sparingly. 
Certain  associations  with  the  attic  still  haunted  her. 
Her  rooms  always  had  the  effect  of  a  gray  ground 
with  a  tender  rose-flush  over  everything. 


156  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

She  had  learned  to  draw  when  she  was  a  child,  and 
had  of  late  taken  some  lessons  in  painting.  Pretty 
plaques,  of  her  own  work,  now  brightened  the  walls. 
These  were  made  doubly  effective  by  their  settings 
of  velvety,  mottled  mosses,  or  by  ferns  and  long- 
stemmed  grasses  wreathed  plume-like  about  them. 

Carryl  had  come  across  some  chairs  in  curious,  an- 
tique patterns.  When  the  dingy  things  were  brought 
home  from  the  dust  of  the  auction-room,  Dorrice 
went  into  raptures  over  them.  When  they  had  been 
freshly  upholstered,  she  scarfed  about  them  some 
rich-colored  stuffs,  worked  with  vines  and  leaves. 
Then  there  were  screens,  with  quaint,  graceful  de- 
vices. One  of  these  held,  against  a  background  of 
pale  gold  plush,  a  nest,  with  three  small  robins'-eggs. 
Around  this  Dorrice  had  embroidered  a  gray  branch 
and  some  long-stemmed  reeds  and  rushes.  As  you 
gazed,  you  seemed  to  feel  the  wind  shivering  through 
them. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  said  to  her  husband  one  day :  "  I 
don't  just  see  how  it  is,  Ned,  but  whenever  I  make 
a  visit  to  Pinckney  Street,  and  come  back  to  my  own 
splendors,  they  look  to  me  a  little  coarse  and  garish, 
as  though  they  had  missed  some  fine  secret  those 
low-studded  rooms,  at  the  top  of  that  old  house,  had 
found.  I  can't  precisely  tell  where  it  lies.  The  ele- 
gance, the  values  of  things  are,  of  course,  immeasur- 
ably on  my  side.  But  that  girl  seems  to  have  a 
genius  for  lifting  everything  she  touches  into  poetry. 
Her  rooms  rest  and  charm  one,  like  a  lovely  bit  of 
outdoors." 

On  the  day  that  Mrs.  Hallowell  made  this  remark 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  157 

to  her  husband,  he  had,  rather  perfunctorily,  prom- 
'ised  to  accompany  her  to  Class  Day  at  Harvard, 
where  some  young  cousins  were  to  graduate.  But, 
discovering,  a  little  later,  that  business  engagements 
would  interfere  with  his  rash  promise,  he  sought  to 
retract  it.  His  wife  was  a  good  deal  chagrined,  arid 
a  happy  way  out  of  the  difficulty  presented  itself  to 
his  mind.  "Didn't  I  hear  you  say  something  the 
other  day  about  inviting  young  Dacres'  sister  to  go 
with  you?  Why  can't  you  take  him  along  in  my 
place?  He  would,  no  doubt,  enjoy  the  pow-wow 
vastly  more  than  I  should." 

Mrs.  Hallowell  reflected.  "  I'm  not  sure  but  that 
is  the  best  thing  to  do,"  she  replied. 

The  next  morning  she  called  on  Dorrice  with  the 
invitation  for  Class  Day.  Of  course  it  was  a  delight- 
ful surprise.  While  they  were  discussing  it,  Dorrice 
said:  "I  shall  be  forced  to  make  a  very  simple  toilet. 
I  don't  know  how  it  will  appear  among  all  those 
gorgeously  dressed  people." 

"  Don't  give  yourself  the  least  anxiety  on  that 
score,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Hallowell  rejoined.  "  Any- 
thing cool  and  becoming  will  do  for  the  day,  which, 
if  it  follows  its  traditions,  will  be  perfect." 

On  the  following  day,  Mrs.  Hallo  well's  coachman 
left  a  large  package  for  Dorrice.  She  had  a  little 
time  of  snipping  cords,  and  tearing  away  wrappings, 
and  opening  a  box,  when  the  mystery  revealed  itself 
in  folds  of  silk  —  soft,  rich,  cream-colored,  with  the 
faintest  possible  pink  flush  over  all,  as  though  it  had 
caught  the  dimmest  reflection  from  some  sunrise 
cloud.  There  were  lovely  lace  trimmings  for  cor- 


158  A   BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS. 

sage  and  sleeves,  and  a  plume  of  a  little  darker 
shade  for  a  hat.  Among  the  folds  was  a  graceful 
little  note,  half  gay,  half  serious,  in  which  the  writer 
stated  that  she  had  stolen  a  inarch  on  Dorrice,  en- 
gaged her  own  dressmaker  for  the  silk,  and  that  its 
acceptance  would  be  a  favor  to  one  who  was  under 
such  great  obligations  to  the  reader. 

After  that  note,,  only  a  narrow  nature  could  have 
felt  any  hesitancy  in  accepting  Mrs.  Hallowell's  gift. 


XX 

No  lovelier  day  ever  shone  out  of  June  skies  than 
that  on  which  Mrs.  Hallowell,  with  her  young  com- 
panions, bowled  along  the  elm-shaded  vistas  of  the 
old  University  town.  Light  winds  rippled  the  young 
green  of  the  ancient  trees.  Long,  purplish  shadows 
of  hole,  and  branch,  and  swaying  bough  lay  upon 
the  ground.  The  June  sunshine  gave  a  soft,  ideal- 
izing touch  to  the  old  college  fronts,  that  had  looked 
down  for  so  many  years  on  the  great  annual  holi- 
day. 

One  must  be  young,  of  course,  to  enter  heart  and 
soul  into  Class  Day.  But  its  memories  and  associa- 
tions have  a  trick  of  stirring  the  calm  pulses  of  age 
with  something  of  the  fire  of  .youth.  The  gray- 
haired  man  recalls  the  visions  of  graceful,  blooming 
maidenhood  that  shone  and  sparkled  before  his  eyes, 
and  half  sighs  for  that  vanished  loveliness.  The 
matron  remembers  the  gallant  youths,  as  they 
marched  proudly  to  the  church  for  the  last  time, 
and  for  the  moment  is  the  gay,  light-hearted  maiden 
of  those  old  memories. 

To  our  young  people,  everything  in  the  gay  scene 
had  the  largeness  and  charm  of  novelty.  It  was 
difficult  to  realize  there  could  be  such  things  as  care 
or  grief,  as  dull  yesterdays  or  dreary  to-morrows,  in 

159 


160  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

a  world  that  seemed  made  up  of  joy  and  mirth,  of 
youth  and  loveliness. 

At  last  the  oration  arid  poem  were  over,  and  the 
hundred  voices  of  the  seniors  had  united  in  singing 
the  ode  which  closed  the  exercises.  The  crowds 
poured  out  from  the  dim  old  church,  and  then  fol- 
lowed the  grand  climax  —  the  feasting  and  fun  of 
Class  Day. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  and  Dorrice  were,  of  course,  over- 
whelmed with  invitations  to  spreads.  Carryl  found 
himself  entirely  superseded  in  his  office  of  escort. 
He  did  not,  however,  resign  his  post  with  reluc- 
tance. He  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  several 
of  the  undergraduates,  and  there  were  pretty  girls 
and  smiling  faces,  to  which  that  youth  was  by  no 
means  -invulnerable,  ready  to  welcome  him  at  the 
spreads. 

Dorrice  was  quite  too  much  absorbed  in  the  gay 
drama,  to  realize  her  own  share  in  it,  but  her  chaper- 
one  was  not  so  unconscious.  She  saw  the  admiring 
glances  which  followed  her  prote'gde,  and  listened 
amused  to  the  gay  persiflage  which  Dorrice  was  hav- 
ing with  some  of  the  seniors. 

The  cream-colored  silk,  the  soft  laces  about  the 
white  throat,  the  little  plumed  hat  surmounting  all, 
fitly  enclosed  the  girlish  lines  and  bloom.  "  She  is 
bewitching  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hallowell  to  herself.  "  It 
seems  as  though  half  Harvard  was  coming  up  to  be 
presented.  That  pretty  face  draws  them  as  a  fresh 
rose  does  the  bees !  " 

The  afternoon  was  slowly  waning  when  Carryl 
Dacres  found  himself  standing  by  one  of  the  deep 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  161 

window-seats  in  Holworthy.  In  one  corner  of  the 
room,  a  group  of  seniors  were  having  a  hilarious 
time ;  but  Carryl  was  alone,  awaiting  the  return  of  a 
friend,  who  had  been  suddenly  called  away. 

Standing  in  the  deep-seated  window,  Carryl  heard 
the  music  of  the  band,  to  which  the  swift  feet  of  the 
dancers  kept  time  ;  he  saw  the  long  lines  of  noble 
elms  and  the  masses  of  moving  color  made  by 
the  groups  scattered  over  the  grounds.  But  at 
that  moment  the  gay  music  grated  on  his  ears ;  and 
all  the  life  and  brightness  of  the  scene  outside  only 
emphasized  some  pain  that  had  been  lurking  in  his 
thoughts  all  day. 

A  voice  suddenly  attracted  Carryl's  attention.  A 
new  figure  had  joined  the  group  in  the  corner,  where 
the  jests  and  laughter  had  waxed  steadily  louder. 
"  Fellows,"  exclaimed  the  new-comer,  in  a  tragi- 
comic tone,  "I'm  struck — stunned  —  smashed! 
Cupid's  arrow  has  finished  me  this  time  ! " 

Carryl  turned  sharply  round  to  see  the  speaker-, 
he  was  a  tall,  rather  good-looking  fellow,  with  light 
hair  and  whiskers.  It  was  impossible  to  keep  from 
laughing  at  his  woe-begone  aspect;  his  statement 
was  received  with  immense  howls  and  cheers  by  his 
classmates ;  "Who  is  she,  old  fellow?  Where  is  she? 
Make  a  clean  breast  of  it !  "  they  shouted. 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  grimace  of  despair. 
"  It  is  the  most  agonizingly  lovely  creature  ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Talk  of  eyes !  Talk  of  lightning  darting 
straight  through  a  fellow !  I  say  there  should  be  a 
stop  put  to  this  thing,  in  the  interests  of  male 
humanity.  Girls  have  no  right  to  be  so  divinely 


162  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

pretty !  It  ought  to  be  made  a  crime  to  lacerate  an 
innocent  man's  feelings  in  this  fashion." 

This  talk  was  received  with  acclamations  and 
fresh  yells  of  laughter.  "  You're  right,  old  boy  !  " 
exclaimed  one  of  the  group.  "There  should  be  a  law 
against  a  girl's  striking  a  fellow  dumb,  like  Medusa, 
with  a  look!  But  there's  safety  in  numbers!  I 
have  seen  such  galaxies  of  transcendent  creatures 
to-day,  that  any  special  one  has  failed  to  transfix 
me.  I'm  only  dazzled  and  muddled  with  enchanting 
visions  of  sparkling  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  all 
that!" 

Cries  of  "  That's  so  !  you've  expressed  the  general 
feeling,  Putnam ! "  and  like  approving  comments 
filled  the  air.  In  the  midst  of  all  this,  Sewall  shook 
his  head  with  a  ridiculously  solemn  gravity.  "  But 
this  was  a  superlative  creature,"  he  said.  "  She 
stood  out  in  sharp  relief  against  all  the  other  charm- 
ers, just  as  that  tall,  white  lily  does  in  the  bouquet 
there.  When  she  glanced  at  you  with  those  great 
starlike  eyes,  and  smiled  or  spoke  — "  he  broke  off 
here  with  a  sepulchral  groan. 

The  room  and  the  halls  rang  with  the  shouts  of 
the  seniors.  In  the  midst  of  them,  Sewall  glanced 
outside.  "Jove  defend  us !"  he  exclaimed.  "There 
she  comes !  It's  the  one  on  the  right,  with  the  rav- 
ishing little  hat !  The  lady  ahead  is  her  chaperone. 
I  should  like  to  pommel  the  rascal  she  is  talking 
with !  Confound  you  fellows  !  Don't  block  up  the 
way!" 

For  there  was  a  craning  of  necks  about  the  win- 
dow. Carryl,  whose  curiosity  had  been  a  good  deal 


A   BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  163 

aroused,  crossed  the  room,  and  looked  over  the  heads 
of  the  others.  He  had  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Hallowell 
coming  up  the  avenue  with  a  party  of  young  friends; 
and  the  girl  just  behind  her,  talking  to  a  gentleman 
at  her  side,  was  —  his  own  sister  ! 


XXI. 

LATE  on  the  evening  of  Class  Day,  Carryl  and 
Dorrice  Dacres  were  sitting  alone  together  in  their 
home.  They  had  been  separated  most  of  the  day, 
and  were  now  relating  its  varied  events  to  each 
other,  living  over  again  the  joyous  scenes  which  had 
formed  such  an  epoch  in  their  lives. 

Dorrice  was,  by  virtue  of  her  sex  and  her  tempera- 
ment, the  more  talkative  and  enthusiastic  of  the 
two.  It  was  a  pity  she  had  but  one  auditor.  Her 
pictures  were  so  vivid,  her  narrative  so  sparkled 
with  girlish  life  and  glee !  Carryl  listened,  thor- 
oughly enjoying  the  stream  of  bright  talk.  His 
shouts  of  laughter  occasionally  drowned  his  sister's 
voice,  or  he  would  break  in  with  some  comical  story 
of  his  own. 

At  last  Dorrice  said,  with  a  yawn  of  happy  weari- 
ness, "  I  wouldn't  believe  so  much  could  be  crowded 
into  one  day."  She  glanced  across  the  room,  dimly 
lighted  in  the  warm  summer  night,  to  the  mantel, 
where  her  pretty  bouquets  filled  the  air  with  fra- 
grance. These  were  trophies,  torn,  at  the  risk  of 
necks  and  limbs,  from  the  garlands  on  the  great  elm, 
and  brought  to  her  by  some  gallant  senior.  "  What 
will  to-morrow  be  like,  I  wonder  !  " 

164 


A   BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  165 

"  The  day  after  the  fair,"  answered  Carryl ;  "  rather 
humdrum,  I  imagine." 

"But  it  will  be  nice  to  live  over  what  has  hap- 
pened," continued  Dorrice,  with  her  inveterate 
optimism.  "  Then  we  haven't  told  each  other 
everything  yet." 

This  last  remark  suggested  to  Carryl  the  talk  at 
Holworthy  that  afternoon.  He  saw,  too,  the  chance 
it  afforded  him  for  a  grand  climax. 

So  he  began  and  related  the  scene  to  Dorrice,  who 
listened  and  laughed  until  the  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes,  but  without  the  ghost  of  a  suspicion  that  she 
had  any  personal  interest  in  the  story.  Carryl 
paused  at  the  point  where  he  had  gone  to  the  win- 
dow, and  looked  out  with  the  others. 

"And  was  she  really  such  a  bewitching  creature?" 
inquired  Dorrice,  curiously. 

"  Oh,  she  looked  well  enough ! "  Carryl's  tone 
was  at  its  coolest. 

"  Well  enough !  She  must  have  been  awfully 
pretty,  or  he  would  never  have  gone  on  about  her 
in  that  strain  !  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  was  hardly  a  judge  ;  I  had  seen  too 
much  of  her,  you  know." 

"You  had!     Where?" 

"  Oh,  for  the  last  nineteen  years,  or  so  !  " 

She  glanced  up  at  him.  He  was  looking  sus- 
piciously unconcerned.  Her  face  suddenly  grew 
scarlet. 

"  You  don't  mean  —  it  wasn't —  " 

"  Yes  I  do  mean  —  it  was ! "  he  answered. 

It  was  a  critical  moment  for  a  girl  just  turned 


166  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

nineteen.  A  mother  would  have  had  a  wiser  sympa- 
thy than  was  possible  to  a  brother  at  this  juncture. 
Dorrice  rose,  went  straight  into  the  other  room,  and 
surveyed  herself  at  the  mirror,  with  a  pleased,  star- 
tled intentness,  much  as  though  she  were  looking 
curiously  at  some  new  object.  She  saw,  in  the  dim- 
ness, the  lovely  face,  the  graceful,  pliant  lines,  among 
the  creamy  draperies. 

Carryl  watched  her  through  the  portieres  in  silent 
amusement. 

In  his  secret  soul,  he  regarded  his  sister  as  a  re- 
markably pretty  girl.  She  was  like  her  mother, 
whom  he  had  always  thought  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world.  But  he  took  his  sister's  good 
looks  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  stars,  and 
the  flowers,  and  the  sunshine,  were  beautiful,  too  ; 
but  there  was  no  use  in  a  fellow's  going  into  rhapso- 
dies over  them.  He  had  not  the  slightest  notion 
that  such  a  sensible  little  head  could  be  turned  by 
any  amount  of  flattery.  Still,  he  was  slightly  sur- 
prised at  the  palpable  effect  of  his  story ;  and,  half 
amused  and  half  serious,  he  said,  at  last :  "  I  have 
always  heard  that  girls  were  as  vain  as  Venus  her- 
self! You  are  not  going  to  mind  that  fellow's  stuff, 
Dorrice  ?  " 

She  turned  from  the  mirror,  and  came  toward  him 
now.  Her  eyes,  her  whole  face,  fairly  radiated  light, 
as  she  stood  there  in  her  gleaming  silk  and  laces. 
"  Oh,  Carryl  !  "  she  said,  "  you  are  the  dearest  fellow 
in  the  world  ;  but  you  don't  understand  —  girls !  " 


XXII. 

ANYBODY  who  had  watched  Dorrice  Dacres  nar- 
rowly for  the  next  two  or  three  days,  would  have 
perceived  that  some  new  influence  had  entered  into 
her  life.  She  came  to  the  mirror  a  little  oftener,  and 
lingered  there  a  little  longer,  than  had  been  her 
habit,  as  she  arranged  some  color  at  her  throat,  and 
hummed  some  gay  little  song,  that  seemed  to  chord 
with  the  light  movement  of  her  fingers.  She  had 
been  more  or  less  aware  of  her  good  looks  before ; 
but  they  had  not  occupied  the  foreground  of  her 
consciousness  so  long  as  she  could  say  to  herself 
with  perfect  sincerity,  "  Of  course  I  am  glad  to  look 
pretty,  only  there  is  so  much  else  to  think  about." 

But  various  straws  showed,  at  this  time,  that  the 
wind  was  setting  in  a  new  quarter.  Dorrice  was 
very  human.  She  was  barely  nineteen.  There  is 
always  danger  when  the  world's  breath  touches  a 
fresh,  unspoiled  nature. 

But  at  this  juncture  something  happened  which 
made  a  new  centre  for  the  girl's  thoughts  and  inter- 
ests. Heart  and  brain  were  absorbed  in  plans  and 
desires,  before  which  all  personal  vanities  sank  into 
the  background. 

One  evening,  less  than  a  week  after  Class  Day, 
when  that  experience  had  gained  some  perspective  in 

167 


1G8  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

their  thoughts,  Dorrice  said  to  Carryl :  "  Our  reading 
is  getting  dreadfully  demoralized  of  late.  One  can't 
go  into  anything  profound,  with  the  thermometer  up 
in  the  eighties.  Can't  we  have  something  funny 
and  sparkling,  —  something  that  will  make  us  laugh, 
-  to-night  ?  " 

"  Suppose  we  try  a  little  of  Elia?"  answered  Car- 
ryl, in  a  rather  indifferent  tone. 

Dorrice  assented,  and  Carryl  went  over  to  the  small 
book-case  in  the  corner,  which  had  been  one  of  their 
latest  indulgences.  He  had  been  rather  grave  of 
late ;  and  his  sister  had  asked  him  if  there  was 
any  trouble  at  the  office,  and  told  him  he  looked  as 
solemn  as  Atlas  with  the  world  on  his  shoulders. 

When  he  returned  to  the  table,  however,  Carryl 
did  not  bring  Charles  Lamb  with  him.  "  You  have 
the  wrong  book,"  said  Dorrice,  thinking  he  had 
made  a  mistake. 

"  No,"  he  said,  decidedly,  "  I  must  have  Emerson 
to-night."  He  turned  over  the  essays  until  he  came 
to  the  one  on  "  Literary  Ethics."  It  was  a  pleasure 
to  hear  Carryl  read.  He  had  a  rich  quality  of  voice ; 
and  early  training  had  given  it  compass  and  expres- 
sion. He  began  the  noble  essay,  whose  first  deliver- 
ance at  Dartmouth  College  must  have  made  an  epoch 
there :  — 

"  I  have  reached  the  middle  age  of  man ;  yet  I 
believe  I  am  not  less  glad  or  sanguine  at  the  meet- 
ing of  scholars  than,  when  a  boy,  I  first  saw  the  grad- 
uates of  my  own  college  assembled  at  their  anniver- 
sary. Neither  years  nor  books  have  yet  availed  to 
extirpate  a  prejudice  then  rooted  in  me,  that  a 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  169 

scholar  is  the  favorite  of  Heaven  and  earth,  the 
excellency  of  his  country,  the  happiest  of  men.  His 
duties  lead  him  into  the  holy  ground  where  other 
men's  aspirations  only  point." 

Just  here  Carryl  broke  down  ;  he  burst  into  tears, 
and  laid  his  head  on  the  book. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Dorrice. 

The  next  moment  the  book  went  spinning  across 
the  room,  and  flopped  in  the  farthest  corner.  "  Of 
all  the  infernal  fools !  Of  all  the  confounded 
idiots !  "  exclaimed  Carryl,  savagely  ;  and  here  again 
his  sobs  choked  him,  and  he  laid  his  head  on  the  table. 

Dorrice  had  risen,  much  startled,  and  was  hover- 
ing about  her  brother.  She  knew  no  ordinary  trou- 
ble could  thus  have  broken  down  the  proud,  reticent 
youth. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  it  ?  "  she  pleaded,  sharply. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  Dorrice !  "  he  burst  out,  pas- 
sionately. "  If  you  do,  I  shall  blow  my  brains  out !  " 

She  was  wise  enough  to  keep  silent ;  but  her  swift 
instinct  could  not  be  long  at  fault.  There  was  a. 
start,  a  flash  of  conviction,  through  the  alarm  and 
perplexity  of  her  face.  It  was  all  clear  to  her  in  an 
instant. 

The  storm  was  brief,  though  it  shook  Carryl's  tall, 
lithe  figure  from  head  to  foot.  When  he  lifted  his 
head,  the  dark  cheeks  were  scarlet  with  angry  morti- 
fication. "  What  an  ass  a  fellow  must  be  to  cry 
before  a  girl !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  But  if  the  girl  happens  to  be  his  own  sister." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  I  tell  you !  "  he  re- 
torted, wrathfully.  "  If  you  want  to  drive  me  into 


170  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

hanging  myself,  you  will  go  on  talking  about  this 
thing!" 

Her  time  had  come  now.  She  drew  close  to  him  ; 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Carryl,"  she 
said,  "  I  know  what  the  trouble  is.  It  is  one  that 
does  my  brother  honor." 

And  when  she  said  those  words,  and  when  he  looked 
at  her  standing  there,  her  great  brown  eyes  luminous 
with  pride  and  tenderness,  he  felt  no  more  ashamed. 

They  talked  far  into  the  summer  midnight.  It 
was  an  unspeakable  comfort  for  Carryl,  now  the  ice 
was  broken,  to  pour  out  his  soul  to  a  listener  so  full 
of  appreciative  sympathy.  He  had  meant  to  carry 
his  secret  to  the  grave ;  but  Class  Day,  with  all  its 
suggestions  and  associations,  had  made  the  supreme 
desire  of  his  soul  more  clamorous,  while  its  long 
repression  had  ended  in  the  passionate  outbreak 
which  surprised  and  betrayed  him.  Carryl  Dacres 
had  done  his  best  to  accept  the  fate  which  had  or- 
dained him  to  a  business  career.  He  had  tried  to 
put  heart,  soul,  energy,  ambition,  into  his  work.  He 
had  succeeded  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  employers ; 
but  he  came,  as  we  have  seen,  on  his  mother's  side, 
of  a  race  of  scholars,  and  heredity  was  powerful  in 
the  last  of  their  descendants.  At  times,  his  longing 
for  a  student's  life  became  an  acute,  almost  unbeara- 
ble, pain. 

"  God  knows  I  have  tried  to  crush  it  down,"  he  said, 
as,  grown  calm  at  last,  he  paced  the  room.  "  But 
that  day  at  Harvard  cut  me  up  horribly.  It  was  the 
sight  of  all  those  lucky  fellows  having  what  would 
just  be  heaven  to  me,  while  they  find  the  study  —  a 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  171 

good  many  of  them  —  a  stupendous  bore.  Of  course, 
I  know  it  can  never  be  for  me  —  I  might  as  well  cry 
for  the  moon ;  but  when  a  fellow  is  out  of  his  right 
place,  it  grinds,  at  times.  I  never  was  intended  for 
a  business  man.  That  was  not  the  design  of  my 
creation.  I  am  as  certain  of  it  as  I  am  of  my  own 
soul."  Then  he  burst  into  a  laugh,  partly  merry  and 
partly  derisive.  "It  struck  me  at  that  moment  how 
perfectly  idiotic  all  this  would  sound  to  Hallowell." 

But  this  time  Don-ice's  smile  did  not  come  in  swift 
response. 

"  He  would  make  a  huge  mistake,  though,"  Carryl 
resumed,  seriously.  "  I  don't  underrate  his  gift.  It 
is  a  grand  one,  this  power  to  organize  and  control 
material  forces,  and  achieve  a  great  business  success. 
I  haven't  been  in  the  thick  of  things  so  long  and 
learned  nothing.  There  never  was  a  fortune  built 
up  without  brains  and  will,  energy  and  dogged  pluck, 
going  into  it.  A  man  is  a  fool  who  doesn't  honor  all 
these ;  but  it  isn't  my  fault  if  any  original  capacity 
I  may  have  is  of  another  sort  —  not  my  fault  if,  as 
Emerson  says,  'the  scholar  still  seems  to  me  the 
favorite  of  earth  and  Heaven.'  " 

"  And  shall  you  go  through  all  your  life  feeling 
like  that?"  inquired  Don-ice,  in  alow,  anxious  tone. 

"  I  presume  so.  A  fellow  can't  help  the  way  he 
was  made  up ;  but  if  he  finds  himself  in  the  wrong 
place,  with  no  way  out  of  it,  he  must  do  his  work 
there  as  pluckily  as  though  it  were  his  first  choice. 
His  grumbling  and  whining  won't  make  things  any 
better." 

A  little  pause  followed  his  words.     Then  Dorrice 


172  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

spoke  again,  very  seriously  :  "  What  you  say,  Carryl, 
is  certainly  true.  The  business  genius,  as  you  men 
call  it,  is  a  grand  gift.  Think  of  all  it  enables  men 
to  be  and  do  !  There  are  the  Rothschilds,  the  Barings, 
the  Vanderbilts,  you  know.  What  a  power  there  is 
in  such  vast  wealth !  It  fairly  dazes  one  to  think  of 
it.  If  —  " 

"Well?" 

For,  without  being  able  to  account  for  it  to  herself, 
she  had  come  to  a  sudden  pause. 

"  If  the  choice  were  yours  to-night,"  said  the  girl- 
ish voice,  so  slowly  that  each  word  seemed  weighed 
by  its  speaker ;  "  if  you  had  to  decide  for  all  your 
future  between  the  great  fortune  and  the  scholar's 
life,  which  would.it  be?" 

Carryl  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  turned  from  his 
sister,  and  walked  several  times  across  the  room. 
The  ancestral  trend,  which  had  made  scholars  of  two 
or  three  generations  of  his  race,  had  been  powerfully 
transmitted  to  their  sole  descendant,  the  slender, 
dark-eyed  youth  pacing  the  room  in  the  late  June 
evening.  His  soul  was  fiercely  athirst  with  their  old 
passion  for  study.  He  remembered  what  men  had 
done  and  sacrificed  in  all  the  ages  to  lead  the  intel- 
lectual life,  to  hand  on  the  torch  from  one  generation 
to  another.  He,  the  son  of  scholars,  felt  the  old  fire 
within  him.  Knowledge  seemed  to  him  the  one 
intimate,  essential  treasure,  beside  which  all  other 
possessions  appeared  poor  and  transient.  At  that 
moment,  Carryl  Dacres  felt  the  clamorous  craving  of 
young  faculty  for  its  native  air,  felt  that  he  must 
"miss  the  true  direction  of  his  life,"  and  that  his 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  173 

best  powers  must  be  crippled  and  wasted  in  the 
business  career,  for  which  nature  had  not  designed 
him. 

This  feeling  sometimes  came  over  him  when  he 
was  in  the  office,  amid  the  thick  of  business,  or  about 
the  streets,  on  the  affairs  of  the  house ;  and  his  breath 
would  suddenly  come  hard,  and  he  would  grind  his 
heel  into  the  ground,  as  he  told  himself  there  was  no 
help  for  it,  and  that  he  must  put  all  he  possessed 
—  his  young  manhood,  its  hopes,  its  energies,  its 
strength  —  into  the  work  his  heart  had  not  chosen, 
and  did  not  love. 

Dorrice  had  been  silently  watching  her  brother  all 
this  time.  At  last,  he  turned,  met  her  eyes,  and 
stood  still  before  her.  "  If  it  were  in  my  power  to 
choose,  Dorrice,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  the  scholar's 
life  above  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  poor  boy  !  You  poor  boy !  "  exclaimed 
Dorrice. 

For  days  that  followed  there  was  no  allusion  to 
the  talk  of  that  night.  But  the  face  that  looked  at 
Dorrice  Dacres  from  the  mirror,  no  longer  blushed 
and  smiled  with  pleased  consciousness  of  its  charms ; 
and  she  did  not  now  carol  bits  of  gay  ballads  as  she 
put  the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet. 

The  knowledge  she  had  gained  flashed  a  new  light 
upon  the  past.  She  understood  now  why  Carryl  had 
been  moody  and  irritable  at  times,  and  unnaturally 
gay  at  others.  She  had  enough  of  his  quality  to 
enter  into  his  feelings  with  perfect  sympathy.  She 
felt  more  and  more  that  her  brother  was  losing  his 
best  life. 


174  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Dorrice  procured  a  Harvard  catalogue,  and  studied 
the  table  of  expenses.  The  dark  brown  head,  bend- 
ing over  it,  was  anxiously  seeking  to  solve  the  hard 
problem  of  ways  and  means ;  but  it  always  baffled 
her. 

"  If  we  only  had  a  thousand  dollars,  there  could  be 
a  beginning,"  she  said  to  herself  a  dozen  times  a  da}r. 
"And  there  are  so  many  people  to  whom  that  would 
be  a  mere  drop  in  the  ocean.  I  wonder  why  people's 
lots  should  be  so  different  in  this  world !  " 

During  this  time,  too,  Dorrice  was  a  good  deal 
depressed  by  a  sense  of  inferior  abilities.  She  en- 
vied people  who  had  great  gifts  —  she  had  heard  of 
singers  who  made  hundreds  of  dollars  in  a  single 
night.  "If  I  only  had  a  voice  that  would  make 
crowds  rush  to  hear  it ;  if  I  could  write  a  book  like 
4  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  or  paint  some  grand  picture, 
then  —  it  might  be  different  with  Carryl.  But," 
drawing  a  deep  sigh,  "I  am  a  very  commonplace 
person  ;  I  haven't  a  particle  of  creative  power  in  any 
direction.  If  the  fates  had  only  been  kinder  to  me  ! 
Ah,  I  would  raise  heaven  and  earth  just  now  to  get 
a  thousand  dollars." 


XXIII. 

ONE  morning,  slow,  heavy  feet  mounted  the 
stairs,  and  there  was  a  fumbling  knock  at  the  door. 
When  Dorrice  opened  it,  she  saw  a  large,  heavily 
built  figure  in  a  gray  coat  and  white  hat.  A  second 
glance  at  the  broad,  smooth  cheeks,  the  light  blue 
eyes,  the  fringe  of  white  whiskers  about  the  chin, 
and  a  low,  startled  cry  broke  from  her  lips. 

"  You  guess  who  I  be,  then,"  said  the  old  man ; 
and  his  big  chin  quivered,  and  his  light  eyes  stared 
doubtful  and  bewildered  at  the  fair,  slender  girl. 

"  Dear  old  Deacon  Spinner ! "  she  burst  out  in 
amazed  delight.  Her  little  soft  hands  were  in  his 
large  palms,  her  lips,  tremulous  with  surprise  and 
joy,  were  lifted  to  his,  and  on  the  threshold  the  old 
man  and  the  young  maiden  kissed  each  other. 

Once  inside,  Deacon  Spinner's  slow  gaze  went  all 
about  the  room,  and  then  came  back  to  his  young 
hostess,  who  had  removed  his  hat,  and  was  watching 
him  with  eyes  into  whose  joyful  eagerness  broke  a 
sudden  mist  of  tears.  "It's  Dorrice,"  said  the  old 
man,  in  a  slow  voice  of  conviction.  "I'm  cert'in 
now ;  but  I  was  puzzled  at  fust.  Them  eyes  and  that 
smile  settled  it.  You've  grown  as  putty  as  a  pink, 
and  you  look  more  like  your  ma  than  ever." 

175 


176  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

The  tears  in  the  eyes  were  on  the  flushed  cheeks 
now.  It  was  so  long  since  anybody  had  spoken  of 
her  mother. 

She  kept  her  hand  in  his.  "  How  glad  Carryl  will 
be  ! "  she  said  at  last. 

"  Does  he  live  here  ?  " 

"  Where  else  should  he  live  ?  "  A  merry  glance 
flashed  through  her  tears. 

"  You  and  he  all  alone  together  ?  "  continued  the 
old  man,  and  again  his  slow,  bucolic  gaze  went  about 
the  room. 

"  He  and  I  all  alone." 

"  Wall,  I  snum  !  "  mused  the  old  man,  half  to  him- 
self, half  to  his  auditor.  "  This  beats  all !  Won't 
Miss  Spinner  be  dumbfounded  when  I  tell  her  how 
fine  and  scrumptious  you  be !  You're  sure  you  ain't 
married,  Dorrice?"  he  continued,  rather  anxiously. 

Her  laugh  broke,  one  silvery  peal  following  an- 
other, until  she  grew  breathless.  "  How  could  you 
imagine  anything  so  absurd  ?  "  she  said  at  last. 

The  old  man  drew  out  his  red  handkerchief,  and 
mopped  his  face,  beaded  with  perspiration.  "It's 
amazin',''  he  said,  solemnly,  "  how  all  young  things, 
like  corn,  and  grass,  and  girls,  grows  up  !  It  seems 
only  yesterday  you  went  pattin'  round  the  medder, 
along  o'  me,  huntin'  for  wild  roses  and  buttercups ; 
and  proud  as  a  peacock  when  I  sot  you  on  top  o'  the 
fresh  hay,  so  you  could  ride  to  the  barn  ;  and  here 
you  are  now,  shot  up  into  such  a  bloomin'  young 
woman,  that  my  eyes  is  fairly  dazzled !  " 

"  But  the  sight  of  you  has  made  me  that  little  girl 
on  top  of  the  hay,"  rejoined  Dorrice.  She  had 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  177 

seated  herself  by  the  old  man's  side ;  her  eyes  con- 
tinued to  devour  him. 

The  pair  were  soon  deep  in  mutual  confidences 
and  explanations.  The  great  mystery  of  the  long 
silence  was  now  cleared  up.  The  deacon  had  written 
four  times.  In  default  of  a  more  definite  address, 
his  letters  had  been  simply  forwarded  to  Boston. 
They  were,  of  course,  foredoomed  to  the  dead-letter 
office.  But  the  failure  of  Carryl's  letters  to  reach 
their  destination,  was  not  so  easily  accounted  for.  It 
never  has  been,  to  this  day ;  though,  long  afterward, 
it  appeared  that,  at  the  date  of  his  first  writing,  there 
had  been  confusion  and  robbery  on  some  of  the 
mail-routes.  The  old  man  related  how  he  had  re- 
turned each  day  from  the  post-office  with  a  sinking 
heart,  because  he  brought  no  tidings  from  his  young 
friends. 

Dorrice's  eager,  rapid  questions  frequently  broke 
into  and  confused  his  slow  reminiscences.  But 
there  were  spaces  when  the  impatient  little  tongue 
was  silent,  and  she  sat  quite  still,  and  the  contrast 
of  her  young  bloom  and  soft  curves  with  the  old 
man's  baldness  and  angles  suggested  a  lovely  flower 
against  a  rough,  scraggy  bough.  One  of  these  times 
of  silence  on  her  part  was  while  the  deacon  related 
the  story  of  his  long  illness,  and  of  the  resolution 
which  he  had  solemnly  made  on  his  sick-bed. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  be  touched  by  the  old 
man's  story.  Dorrice  had  her  palm  in  his  again,  as 
she  listened,  with  eyes  that  often  grew  dim.  She 
broke  in  when  he  came  to  a  pause.  "But  how  in 
the  world  did  you  find  us  at  last  ?  " 


178  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

The  deacon's  reply  was  not  the  least  surprising 
part  of  his  story.  He  had  blundered  straight  at  the 
mark.  Having  passed  the  night  at  the  hotel,  he  left 
it  in  the  morning,  much  dazed  by  the  vastness,  the 
crowds,  the  noise  of  the  great  city,  into  which  he 
had  ventured  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  After 
turning  the  matter  over  endlessly  in  his  mind,  he 
resolved  to  apply  to  the  police  for  counsel  or  assist- 
ance. Not  far  from  the  hotel,  he  encountered  a 
couple  of  letter-carriers,  who  he  concluded,  from 
their  uniforms,  must  be  policemen.  He  accosted 
them,  and  inquired  if  they  could  tell  him  where  a 
youth  named  Carryl  Dacres  and  his  sister  could  be 
found. 

The  old  man's  rusticity  of  speech  and  manner 
could  not  fail  to  strike  the  men.  One  of  them 
muttered  to  his  comrade  that  "  the  old  fellow  was  a 
green  customer,  and  regular  game,"  but,  noticing 
the  honest,  anxious  face,  he  replied,  rather  conde- 
scendingly, "No,  uncle,  I  know  nobody  about  here 
of  that  name." 

The  other  glanced  rapidly,  and  with  a  look  of 
covert  fun,  over  the  massive  frame,  the  old-fashioned 
white  coat,  and  big  cane ;  but  when  he  caught  the 
anxious,  appealing  look  of  the  light  blue  eyes,  he 
asked,  in  a  tone  of  real  interest,  "  What  did  you  say 
the  name  was  ?  " 

The  deacon  repeated  it. 

"Oh,  I  know  your  man.  Lives  on  Pinckney 
Street  —  on  my  route." 

The  deacon's  big  chin  quivered.  "Friend,  can 
you  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  to  him?"  he 
asked,  eagerly. 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  179 

"  Come  along  with  me,  uncle  !  I'll  fix  it  all  right," 
answered  the  other,  with  brisk  good  nature.  There 
was  no  more  trouble  after  that. 

Dorrice's  turn  came  at  last,  to  tell  her  own  story. 
The  deacon,  full  of  sympathetic  curiosity,  asked  all 
sorts  of  probing  questions.  If  Dorrice  had  had 
time  to  think  about  it,  she  might  have  contrived  not 
to  reveal  the  sad  story  of  their  first  year  in  the  city. 
It  had  always  appeared  to  the  young  girl  rather  a 
matter  of  honor  and  pride  to  be  silent  over  their 
misfortunes.  But  Deacon  Spinner  knew  the  slender 
resources  with  which  they  had  started  for  the  city. 
So  the  dark  chapter  had  to  be  told.  There  was  one 
page,  the  darkest  of  all,  which  she  concealed,  even 
from  kind  old  Deacon  Spinner's  pitying  eyes.  No- 
body should  ever  know  quite  how  near  to  starvation 
she  and  Carryl  had  come.  But  he  knew  all  the  rest ; 
the  parting  with  the  little  stock  of  jewelry,  the 
growing  privations,  the  bitter  poverty,  the  old  attic 
where  they  had  weathered  the  winter.  Then  the 
story  suddenly  changed.  "Something  happened," 
said  the  sweet,  serious  voice,  "  as  strange  and  beau- 
tiful as  a  Miracle  Play !  "  and  she  related  how,  the 
very  day  they  had  given  up  their  last  hope,  and  were 
about  starting  with  their  last  means  to  Foxlow, 
Carryl  had  saved  little  Tom  Hallowell's  neck,  and 
been  rewarded  with  a  place  in  his  father's  office. 
From  that  hour  it  was  a  story  of  steadily  advancing 
fortunes.  "  You  see  where  we  are  now,"  continued 
Dorrice,  with  a  glance  of  pride  about  the  room, 
whose  pretty  furnishings  and  mural  decorations 
made  it  seem  luxurious  as  a  palace  to  the  eyes  of  the 


180  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

deacon,  familiar  with  the  homely  comfort  of  his  own 
farm-house.  "Carryl  and  I  have  been  very  happy 
here.  I  have  sometimes  wondered  whether  there 
were  two  people  quite  so  happy  in  the  world ! " 

Deacon  Spinner's  face  showed  the  pained,  breath- 
less interest  with  which  he  drank  in  the  story.  At 
certain  crises  of  it,  he  had  to  mop  his  wet  eyes  with 
his  great  red  silk  handkerchief.  But  his  whole  face 
glowed  at  last  over  the  bright  close  of  the  sorrowful 
tale. 

"I  was  cert'in  you  must  have  had  hard  lines,  two 
young  things  like  you,  comin'  to  a  big,  strange  city, 
not  knowin'  a  soul  in  it!"  he  said.  "But  your 
brother  was  so  sot  on  it,  you  know;  and  you  would 
have  followed  him  to  the  jumpin'-off  place." 

"  Oh,  certainly ! "  assented  Dorrice,  as  though  that 
did  not  admit  of  a  question. 

"And  I  couldn't  see  as  I  was  called  to  exercise 
authority,"  continued  the  deacon,  whose  slow,  woolly 
voice  was  pleasant  in  his  listener's  ears.  "  You 
wasn't  the  sort  o'  young  folks  to  make  that  easy. 
Then  I  allowed  you'd  come  back  to  Foxlow,  after  a 
little  taste  o'  the  world,  and  settle  down  better 
pleased  with  things.  Maybe  I  was  more  tetched  than 
I  admitted  to  myself,  that  you  was  so  ready  to  start 
off  in  search  of  another  place ;  for  take  it,  by  and 
large,  I  never  b'lieved  Boston  could  come  up  to  Fox- 
low  for  a  place  to  live  in.  But  after  you'd  gone, 
and  I  got  no  tidin's,  my  mind  misgive  me  that  I 
hadn't  done  my  duty:  and  it's  been  on  my  con- 
science ever  sence." 

"You  meant  to  do  right,"  said  Dorrice,  looking 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  181 

affectionately  at  the  kind,  lymphatic  face.  "  Carryl 
and  I  have  learned  a  great  deal  since  that  time. 
We  see  now  just  what  a  rash,  headlong  thing  it 
was — our  setting  off  in  the  way  we  did.  When 
we  talk  of  that  time,  now,  we  always  call  ourselves 
'babes  in  the  woods.'  " 

The  deacon  smiled;  but  Dorrice  was  not  certain 
whether  he  was  quite  clear  as  to  her  allusion. 

"Miss  Spinner  has  al'ays  felt  we  ought  to  have 
sot  our  foot  down  !  " 

Dorrice  laughed  a  little  soft,  curious  laugh.  "I 
suspect  that  would  not  have  been  so  easy,"  she  said. 
"  We  were  an  unmanageable  brace,  when  we  had 
once  made  up  our  minds.  But  you  know  it  was 
always  mamma's  purpose  that  we  should  come  to 
Boston  some  time.  I  think  it  was  that,  more  than 
eagerness  to  see  the  big  world,  which  decided  us." 

"•  I  knew  it  was  that,  all  the  time.  But  it's  won- 
derful how  things  has  turned  out.  The  Lord  must 
have  taken  care  on  you,  Dorrice ! " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  sure  of  that,"  she  said,  softly. 

So,  through  all  the  long  summer  day,  the  gray  old 
man  and  the  maiden  in  the  May  of  her  youth 
talked  together.  Dorrice  had  endless  questions  to 
ask  about  the  bay  mare,  and  the  big  shepherd-dog, 
and  the  roses  in  Mrs.  Spinner's  front  yard. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  swift,  elastic  step  rung  on 
the  stairs,  and  Carryl  Dacres  bounded  into  the  room. 
Its  two  occupants,  absorbed  in  their  reminiscences, 
had  no  idea  of  the  swift  passage  of  the  hours. 

Carryl  knew  the  deacon  at  a  glance ;  but  the  old 
man  had  a  renewal  of  perplexity  and  amazement 


182  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

before  he  could  recognize,  in  the  tall,  dark  youth 
before  him,  the  stripling  who,  four  years  ago,  had  set 
out,  joyous  and  confident,  to  face  the  great,  unknown 
world. 

Carryl's  welcome  was  hardly  less  demonstrative 
than  his  sister's.  The  grasp  of  the  hand,  the  sight  of 
that  white-whiskered,  kindly  old  face,  startled  up  a 
flock  of  boyish  memories.  "It  is  a  real  comfort  to 
find  you  haven't  changed  a  particle,  though  it  seems 
centuries  since  we  saw  you,"  said  the  young  man  to 
the  old  one. 

"  I  can't  say  the  same  o'  you  and  Dorrice,"  replied 
the  deacon,  feeling  assured  of  Carryl's  identity,  when 
the  smile  sparkled  in  his  black  eyes.  "  You  young 
things  reminds  me  o'  growing  wheat.  Give  it  a 
week  o'  fine  weather,  plenty  o'  ripenin'  sunshine, 
with  light  showers  thrown  in,  and  you  wouldn't 
know  it  at  the  end  o'  that  time.  So  far  as  looks 
goes,  Miss  Spinner  and  me  has  been  putty  much 
standin'  still,  while  you  two  have  shot  up  like  the 
pines  in  the  hill  pastur'." 

It  was  Carryl's  turn  now  to  talk.  He  too  had 
innumerable  questions  to  ask,  but  his  own  story  had 
been  largely  anticipated  by  his  sister.  Dorrice  con- 
siderately left  the  two  together.  She  busied  herself 
in  improvising  one  of  her  dainty  little  meals.  They 
would  not  go  to  the  refectory  that  night.  The 
deacon  should  eat  his  first  supper  with  them,  under 
their  own  roof ! 

In  the  evening,  when  the  guest  had  resumed  his 
chair  by  the  window,  where  little  flickers  of  east 
wind  ruffled  his  scant  white  hair,  he  remarked,  as  his 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  183 

slow  gaze  went  about  the  apartment,  "If  things 
wasn't  prosperin'  with  you,  you  couldn't  be  livin'  in 
this  grand  way." 

"  In  three  rooms  —  at  the  top  of  a  house  !  "  said 
Dorrice,  archly. 

"We  manage  to  keep  our  heads  above  water," 
continued  Carryl,  half  playful,  half  serious,  "  though 
we  haven't  the  purse  of  Fortunatus,  by  a  long  shot." 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  asked  the  deacon,  blandly. 

"  Oh,  one  of  the  characters  in  the  story-books," 
answered  Carryl,  rather  provoked  at  himself  for  for- 
getting the  mental  limitations  of  his  auditor.  "You 
remember  how  mamma  used  always  to  be  reading 
to  us?" 

"Al'ays,"  rejoined  the  old  man.  "I  used  to  tell 
my  wife  '  Miss  Dacres  means  them  children's  heads 
shall  be  chock  full ! '  I  s'pose,  now,  you  never  kept 
any  account  o'  the  furnitur',  and  all  the  things  that 
belonged  to  your  mother  ?  " 

"  I  left  all  that  with  you,  when  you  so  kindly 
offered  to  take  charge  of  our  affairs.  I  knew  you 
thought  there  would  be  enough  to  settle  all  the 
bills." 

"  Well,  there  was,  and  somethin'  over.  I  did  my 
best,"  continued  the  old  man,  earnestly.  "  I  was 
mindful  of  what  the  Scripter  says  about  widders  and 
orphans.  I  had  a  cousin  in  Albany  —  I'd  known 
him  from  a  boy  —  he  was  good  as  gold.  I  got  him 
to  sell  the  pianer,  and  the  pieces  of  old  silver  that 
had  belonged  to  your  grandfer,  and  them  engravin's, 
and  the  rest  of  the  furnitur'.  He  made  the  best  bar- 
gains he  could,  and  things  went  better  than  I'd 


184  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

hoped  for.  When  all  was  settled,  there  was  a  sum 
in  the  bank,  ready  and  waitin'  your  orders." 

"  There  was  !  "  exclaimed  the  two  voices  simulta- 
neously. 

"  It's  drawed  interest  for  more  than  three  years  !  " 

"  Interest ! "  echoed  the  two  voices  again. 

"  Of  course  I  see  to  all  that ! "  slowly  proceeded 
the  deacon,  with  evident  satisfaction  in  the  account 
he  was  rendering.  "  The  whole  sum  must  foot  up 
now  to  a  little  over  a  thousand  dollars." 

"  A  thousand  dollars !  "  repeated  Carryl,  like  one 
dazed  with  the  sudden  announcement  of  a  grand 
fortune. 

But  Dorrice  started  and  drew  her  breath  with  a 
gasp.  Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet ;  she  grasped  the 
old  man's  arm.  "  Say  it  again  —  oh,  say  it  again  ! " 
she  cried,  appealingly. 

The  deacon  was  a  good  deal  startled  by  her  man- 
ner. He  repeated  the  words  with  unusual  emphasis : 
"  A  thousand  dollars  and  somethin'  over." 


XXIV. 

Two  days  had  passed  since  Deacon  Spinner's  visit. 
During  this  time,  the  young  people  had  talked  of 
nothing  else.  The  sight  of  the  simple,  kindly  face, 
had  brought  back  the  old,  happy  child-life  with  great 
vividness.  The  youth  and  the  maiden  were  boy 
and  girl  again,  playing  under  the  cherry-trees  in 
the  deacon's  front  yard,  and  the  mother,  standing  in 
the  doorway,  was  watching  them,  with  her  beautiful, 
sad,  doating  eyes. 

The  two  sat  together  again  in  the  midsummer 
dusk.  "  What  a  trick  those  old  times  have  of  com- 
ing back,"  said  Carryl,  half  to  himself.  "They  seem 
more  real  than  the  present.  I  am  a  little  shaver,  off 
there  at  Foxlow,  and  you,  Dorrice,  are  pattering 
around  after  me,  and  poor  mamma  is  shaking  her 
head  at  us  —  " 

He  could  not  get  any  farther.  Dorrice  knew  why 
he  always  said  "  poor  mamma  !  " 

"  I  suppose  those  things  will  be  coming  up  all  our 
lives,  and  at  times  we  shall  seem  just  those  children 
again,  no  matter  how  old  we  may  be." 

"I  suppose  so."  A  little  pause  followed  his  as- 
sent ;  then  Carryl  turned  suddenly  to  his  sister. 
"  Dorrice,"  he  asked,  "  why  have  you  said  nothing, 
all  this  time,  about  the  money?" 

185 


186  A  BOSTON  GIEL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"Not  because  I  have  not  been  thinking  about  it 
—  thanking  God  for  it  every  moment." 

"  Glad  as  I  am  that  it  has  come  now,  I  can't  help 
the  feeling  that  it  would  once  have  spared  us  the 
bitterest  hours  of  our  lives." 

"  Yes ;  we  can't  help  remembering  that,  no  matter 
what  the  money  may  be  to  us  now." 

"I  have  seen  all  along  that  you  had  some  plan  in 
your  mind.  What  is  it  ?  " 

She  had  waited  for  the  question.  The  curve  of 
the  lips  settled  to  a  firmer  line.  "  This  money  is  not 
like  any  other,  Carryl.  It  is  the  gift  of  the  dead. 
We  must  put  it  to  the  noblest  uses." 

"To  what  uses?"  he  asked,  with  some  compunc- 
tion that  he  had  not  thought  of  that  before. 

The  time  for  the  battle  of  the  giants  had  come  ! 
She  faced  him  with  her  bright,  resolute  gaze.  "  Car- 
ryl," she  said,  "  you  are  going  to  Harvard !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dorrice  ?  " 

"  What  I  said." 

He  burst  into  a  short,  derisive  laugh.  "  It  is  the 
most  inconceivably  mad,  ridiculous  idea  that  ever 
entered  a  girl's  brain." 

"  But  you  are  going  to  Harvard  !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  I  am  going  to  the 
moon  ?  " 

"  That  question  is  too  absurd  to  answer." 

"It  is  not  a  particle  more  absurd,  more  ridiculous, 
than  the  other.  Do  you  mean  I  am  to  go  on  a  thou- 
sand dollars  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  is  to  go  as  far  as  it  will  —  to  pay 
for  your  studies  each  year." 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  187 

"It  is  evident  you  have  got  a  craze.  Otherwise, 
no  sensible  girl  could  talk  such  unmitigated  folly  !  " 

This  sort  of  thing  could  not  go  on  forever.  Dor- 
rice  was  prepared  for  it.  She  foresaw  the  reception 
which  her  proposal  was  doomed  to  meet  from  the 
fiery  youth.  She  knew  that  her  talk  must  seem 
cruelly  tantalizing  —  a  trifling  with  his  most  sacred 
longings  and  aspirations.  For  the  obstacles  to  his 
entering  college  at  this  time,  must  appear  insur- 
mountable at  first  sight.  But  Dorrice  knew  her 
ground. 

When  Carryl  had  exhausted  his  superlatives,  she 
said  to  him  quietly,  "  Will  you  listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  to  do  that  when  you  have  some- 
thing sensible  to  say." 

But  Dorrice  paid  no  heed  to  the  ungracious  reply. 
After  she  began,  there  was  no  danger  of  interrup- 
tion. She  was  quite  certain  when  her  brother's 
mood  passed  from  contemptuous  skepticism  to  pro- 
found interest.  For  she  was  telling  him  how  she 
had  studied  the  Harvard  catalogue  for  days,  before 
Deacon  Spinner's  advent,  how  she  had  learned  that 
the  tuition-fees  were  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
a  year.  There  would  be  no  boarding  expenses,  as 
he  would  live  at  home.  She  had  heard  Carryl  more 
than  once  avow  his  belief  that,  with  a  couple  of 
months'  preparation,  he  could  pass  the  freshman 
examinations.  He  had  not  been  so  well  started  by 
his  mother,  he  had  not  been  studying  all  his  life  for 
nothing.  Carryl  now  learned,  for  the  first  time,  all 
his  sister  had  felt  about  the  thousand  dollars,  that 
seemed  as  far  beyond  her  reach  as  the  stars  of 


188  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

heaven  —  how  she  had  pondered  the  matter  by  day, 
and  dreamed  of  it  by  night,  until  Deacon's  Spinner's 
appearance  on  the  scene,  and  lo  !  what  she  most  de- 
sired had  fallen  into  her  life  from  the  hands  of  their 
dead  mother. 

"  This  money  is  her  gift,  Carryl.  It  is  our  duty  to 
use  it  in  the  way  she  would  prefer  above  all  others." 

When  his  sister  ceased  talking,  Carryl  Dacres  no 
longer  replied  with  angry  contempt.  Her  idea  still 
appeared  to  him  a  practically  impossible  one ;  but  he 
could  not  fail  to  be  touched  by  this  fresh  proof  of 
her  devotion. 

"  If  it  were  only  a  question  of  Harvard,  your  plan 
might  possibly  be  carried  out,"  he  admitted  at  last. 
"  But  meanwhile  there  is  a  living  for  us  both  to  be 
thought  of.  Where  is  that  to  come  from  ?  " 

Her  brown  head  bridled.  "I  knew  you  would  go 
to  harping  on  that  string,  Carryl.  When  it  comes 
to  ways  and  means,  please  to  leave  me  out  of  the 
question.  /  am  not  going  to  stand  in  my  brother's 
way." 

"And  I  will  die  before  I  will  let  my  sister  go 
through  any  more  suffering  for  me,"  Carryl  flashed 
back.  They  were  of  the  same  strain. 

They  talked  far  into  that  night ;  they  talked  far 
into  many  that  followed.  One  subject  was  always 
uppermost  in  their  thoughts,  and  was  forever  coming 
to  the  surface  in  their  talk.  When  they  were  silent, 
each  knew  perfectly  what  was  in  the  mind  of  the 
other.  No  matter  how  far  their  words,  with  set  pur- 
pose, digressed,  they  were  certain  to  gravitate  back 
to  the  all-absorbing  theme.  In  these  talks,  too,  Car- 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  189 

ryl  found  himself  forced  from  one  position  and 
another  which  he  had  regarded  as  impregnable. 
For  here  again  Dorrice  was  sure  of  her  ground.  She 
buttressed  her  arguments  with  the  unimpeachable 
authority  of  her  figures.  There  was  her  school. 
There  were  several  hundred  dollars  which  they  could 
yet  manage  to  save  from  his  wages  —  advanced  dur- 
ing the  last  year.  She  proved  to  him  that  they 
could  see  their  way  clear  for  the  next  two  years. 
She  had  not  had  her  severe  schooling  in  economies 
for  nothing. 

Then  there  was  the  Harvard  catalogue,  with 
which  she  clinched  her  arguments.  Carryl  used 
laughingly  to  declare  that  she  persecuted  him  with 
it  at  this  time,  that  he  dreaded  seeing  it  waved  like 
an  oriflamme  before  his  eyes,  whenever  he  crossed 
the  threshold.  They  had  occasionally  gay  chases 
about  the  room,  where  his  masculine  muscle  would 
be  sure  to  give  him  the  advantage  in  the  end,  and 
when  he  seized  Dorrice,  grown  breathless  with 
laughter,  he  would  snatch  the  book  from  her  hands, 
and  make  a  feint  of  boxing  her  ears  with  it. 

But  these  were  only  the  playful  interludes  of 
youthful  spirits.  For  the  most  part,  they  discussed 
the  matter  on  which  such  issues  hung  for  both,  with 
a  seriousness  which  would  not  have  misbecome  gray 
heads.  At  these  times,  Carryl  would  say :  "  Have 
you  looked  this  thing  in  the  face,  as  /  must  look  it 
for  you,  Dorrice  ?  Do  you  know  what  my  going  to 
Harvard  means  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  blind  to  that  side,  Carryl.  It  must 
mean,  of  course,  a  good  many  privations  and  sacri- 


190  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIOJSS. 

fices  on  my  part.  But,"  her  eyes  flashed,  "a  girl 
wouldn't  be  worth  much  if  she  were  afraid  of  those, 
when  all  her  brother's  future  hangs  in  the  balance ! " 

But  Carryl  did  not  yield  his  defences  so  easily. 
He  held  them  all  the  more  strenuously  because  of 
that  scholar's  passion  which  made  his  sister's  argu- 
ments so  seductive  in  his  ears  ;  a  passion  whose  fires 
burned  of  late  fiercer  in  his  soul,  because  of  the 
efforts  he  made  to  smother  them. 

He  drew  a  picture  of  their  future.  Attractive 
as  it  was,  it  was  one  which  the  facts  sufficiently 
justified.  Carryl  felt  himself  out  of  the  woods  now, 
as  his  metaphor  ran.  He  confidently  expected  that 
his  salary  would  be  advanced  with  each  succeeding 
year.  He  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  made 
himself  of  some  value  to  the  house  of  Hallowell, 
Howth,  and  Company.  There  was  every  prospect 
that,  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  years,  they  might 
have  that  simplest  of  summer  cottages  by  the  sea, 
which  had  been  the  dearest  dream  of  both,  and  which 
would  make  an  idyl  of  all  their  future  summers. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  he  took  his  sister's  advice, 
and  made  the  tremendous  change  in  his  life,  all  the 
lovely  hopes  and  dreams  must  be  given  up  —  for 
years  at  least.  At  best,  there  would  be  a  long,  des- 
perate struggle,  wearing  deeply  into  their  youth, 
before  he  could  make  any  sort  of  place  in  the  world. 
And  Carryl  would  conclude,  with  a  sadness,  of  whose 
depth  he  was  not  conscious,  in  his  tone,  and  with  a 
look  of  grim  resolve  on  his  features :  "  Your  project 
is  hopelessly  visionary,  Dorrice.  I  wish  it  might 
come  true,  but  the  fates  are  against  it." 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  191 

And  Dorrice  would  listen  as  though  the  Arch 
Tempter  were  pleading  in  the  voice  of  that  slender, 
dark-eyed  youth  at  her  side.  For  there  was  a  force 
in  his  reasoning  which  she  could  not  ignore.  She 
dreaded  poverty  — she  —  who  knew  so  well  what  it 
meant!  She  shrank  from  the  strain  of  daily  small 
economies.  Her  tastes  delighted  in  graceful  sur- 
roundings. She  was  not  eager  for  the  mere  luxuries, 
but  her  delicately  organized  nature  craved  the  re- 
finements of  life.  The  contrasts  which  Carryl  had 
painted  appealed  to  her  powerfully.  It  was  not,  of 
course,  to  either,  now,  a  question  of  hunger  or  cold. 
The  time  for  that  had  passed.  But  she  saw  clearly 
—  this  girl  of  nineteen  —  the  privations  and  sacri- 
fices which  lay  ahead  for  both,  if  Carryl  took  the 
step  she  urged  on  him.  She  began  to  be  afraid  of 
herself. 

But  this  clear  outlook,  and  the  fear  it  brought, 
only  nerved  Dorrice  Dacres'  resolution  afresh. 
Carryl,  well  as  he  knew  his  sister,  had  no  suspicion 
that  she  half  faltered  at  times.  But  she  had  a  secret 
conviction  that  she  herself  formed  the  supreme 
obstacle  to  his  entering  Harvard.  Had  there  been 
no  sister  in  the  way,  she  believed  he  would  have 
sent  doubts  and  fears  whistling  down  the  winds, 
and  followed  his  bent,  at  all  hazards.  When  she 
thought  of  this,  by  herself,  she  would  break  out  in  a 
passion  of  renunciation  :  "  Mamma,  mamma,  your 
little  girl  is  going  to  be  true  —  she  will  not  betray 
her  brother's  birthright." 

Carryl,  finding  himself  hard  pressed  on  one  line 
of  argument,  would  occasionally  take  up  another. 


192  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  Well,  granting  what  you  say  is  true,  Dorrice,  — 
though  I  don't  for  an  instant  admit  it, — and  that  I 
might,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  get  into  Harvard,  it  is 
too  late  to  attempt  it.  I  should  be  such  a  venerable 
fellow  —  almost  twenty-five  —  before  I  graduated." 

"  You  might  be  younger,  Carryl.  But  I  cannot 
think  so  meanly  of  my  brother  as  to  conceive  that 
his  future  will  be  spoiled  because  he  is  a  year  —  or 
two  or  three  of  them  —  late  in  graduating." 

Then  he  would  take  another  tack.  "  It  is  still 
counting  without  your  host,  Dorrice.  If  we  did 
manage  to  pull  through  the  first  two  years,  don't 
you  see  there  would  be  a  third,  in  which  we  could 
not  subsist  absolutely  on  air  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  But  if  people  had  reasoned  in  that 
way,  nothing  good  or  great  would  ever  have  been 
accomplished  in  the  world.  Courage  and  hope  and 
faith  have  always  counted  for  something  in  human 
plans.  I  believe  that  when  that  third  year  takes 
its  turn,  it  will  prove  equal  to  standing  on  its  own 
feet." 

"  Well,  you  are  the  pluckiest  little  piece  of  femi- 
nine humanity  a  fellow  ever  had  to  encounter;  he 
may  as  well  make  up  his  mind,  first  as  last,  that  he 
will  have  to  lower  his  colors  !  " 

So  the  talk  went  —  the  jest  every  little  while 
glancing  across  its  serious  mood. 

But  Dorrice  had  one  dart  in  her  quiver,  which 
she  reserved  to  the  last.  It  always  went  home. 
"  Remember  it  is  mamma's  gift,  Carryl.  We  know 
how  she  would  feel  —  what  she  would  prefer  should 
be  done  with  it !  " 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  193 

Carryl  Dacres  could  never  tell  when  he  began 
seriously  to  entertain  the  thought  of  entering 
Harvard.  He  himself  imagined  that  he  was  only 
regarding  it  as  the  most  desirable,  impossible  thing 
in  the  world,  when  his  sister  believed  that  he  had 
reached  the  parting  of  the  ways.  He  almost  ceased 
to  argue  with  her ;  he  told  himself  there  was  no  use 
of  entering  the  lists  where  he  had  so  often  found 
himself  worsted.  But  he  often  said  to  her;  "  What 
a  confounded  fool  —  what  a  hopeless  ass — Hallo  well 
would  regard  me,  if  I  should  broach  this  matter  to 
him ! " 

Dorrice  saw  that  he  was  going  over,  in  a  kind  of 
tentative  way,  his  first  encounter  with  his  employer. 
When  her  brother  made  up  his  mind  to  speak  to 
the  elder  man,  he  would  have  crossed  the  Rubicon. 
Dorrice  had  known  the  time  for  speaking :  she  knew 
in  these  days,  it  was  a  time  to  keep  silent. 


XXV. 

"  OF  all  the  mad,  nonsensical  cranks  that  ever  got 
inside  a  fellow's  brain,  this  carries  the  palm  !  "  Mr. 
Hallowell  suddenly  broke  out,  at  dinner,  in  an 
angry,  contemptuous  tone. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ned  ?  "  asked  his  wife,  who 
was  helping  herself  to  the  salad,  and  displaying,  in 
her  manipulation  of  fork  and  spoon,  a  graceful  curve 
of  wrist. 

"  I  mean  that  fine  prote'ge'  of  yours.  What  insane 
notion  do  you  suppose  has  just  run  away  with 
him?" 

"  My  prote'ge' !  "  Mrs.  Hallowell  looked  perplexed 
for  a  moment.  "  Oh,  is  it  young  Dacres  you  mean?" 

"Precisely.  A  confounded  fool  he  is  bound  to 
make  of  himself,  after  all ! " 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  "  There  was  real  anxiety  in 
Mrs.  Hallowell's  tones. 

"  Done !  It  is  what  he  is  going  to  do.  The  fellow 
has  actually  taken  it  into  his  head  that  he  is  going 
to  college ! " 

"  Going  to  college  !  "  Mrs.  Hallowell  came  to  a 
dead  pause  in  her  dinner.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Ned?" 

"  Just  what  I  said." 

"But  what  — how  is  he  going  to  do  it?  " 
194 


A    BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  195 

"Ah,  that  is  a  question  entirely  beneath  his  con- 
sideration !  My  young  man  is  as  obstinate  as  fools 
generally  are,  when  they  are  bent  on  ruining  them- 
selves. He  is  utterly  blind  to  any  side  of  the  ques- 
tion but  his  own.  When  a  fellow  is  bent  on  making 
a  devilish  ass  of  himself,  he  may  go  ahead  for  all 


me 


"  Oh,  Ned,  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  speak  in  that 
way  of  Carryl  Dacres  !  " 

"  Well,  I  have  had  ample  provocation.  I'm  thor- 
oughly disgusted  with  the  fellow.  Such  a  grand 
chance  as  was  before  him  —  why,  it  doesn't  fall  to 
one  young  man  in  a  hundred.  If  he  had  kept  on 
with  the  business,  he  might  have  ended  by  becoming 
a  member  of  the  firm  —  been  a  rich  man  by  the 
time  he  was  fifty.  I  saw  the  opening  ahead  for  him, 
and  meant  to  give  him  a  lift  at  the  right  moment 
But  now  he  has  got  this  college  craze,  everything 
must  go  by  the  board !  " 

"  But  your  opinion  must  have  some  weight  with 
him,"  continued  the  lady.  "Of  course,  you  tried  to 
reason  with  him  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  did.  I  talked  with  him  like  a  father. 
But  I  might  as  well  have  argued  with  the  winds. 
It  is  the  old  story  of  Phaeton  and  his  horses  over 
again.  I  thought  the  fellow  had  better  stuff  in  him; 
but  it  is  evident  he  won't  stop  before  his  neck  is 
broken." 

Mr.  Hallowell  prided  himself  on  his  cool  clear- 
headedness ;  but  when  he  was  provoked,  he  could 
indulge  in  as  high-flying  metaphors  as  a  hysterical 
woman. 


196  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  I  wonder  what  Dorrice  thinks  of  all  this,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Hallowell,  rather  dodging  the  point. 

"  Oh,  I  gathered  from  what  he  said  that  she 
spurred  him  on  in  this  fool's  chase.  It  is  just  the 
sort  of  thing  to  turn  a  girl's  head." 

"I  hope  it  hasn't  come  of  my  inviting  them  to 
Class  Day,"  said  Mrs.  Hallowell,  half  earnestly,  half 
seriously. 

u  Very  likely,  that  first  started  them  off.  But,  in 
the  long  run,  it  would  have  made  no  difference.  If 
people  are  bent  on  making  fools  of  themselves,  it  is 
no  use  trying  to  stop  them." 

But  Mrs.  Hallowell  was  not  so  ready  as  her 
husband  to  dismiss  the  Dacres'  fortunes  with  pat 
epigrams  and  apothegms.  She  put  aside  several  en- 
gagements, so  that  by  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning 
her  carriage  drew  up  on  Pinckney  Street.  The 
interview  that  followed  was  one  which  neither  she 
nor  Dorrice  will  ever  forget.  The  lady  had  come 
plied  with  arguments,  whose  logic  she  believed  un- 
answerable ;  but  when  the  long,  serious  talk  came  to 
an  end,  and  she  took  her  leave,  it  was  with  a  mind  a 
good  deal  perplexed  and  shaken.  For  the  young 
girl  had  opened  her  heart  to  her  friend,  as  Carry  1 
never  could  to  his  employer,  after  the  angry,  scornful 
reception  which  his  first  suggestion  of  entering  Har- 
vard had  met.  Indeed,  Mr.  Hallowell  had  taken  the 
course  most  likely  to  confirm  his  clerk  in  his  pulpose, 
by  treating  it  as  one  which  no  sensible  man  could 
regard  with  a  moment's  patience. 

But  Mrs.  Hallowell  heard  a  story  from  Dorrice's 
lips  which  placed  the  whole  affair  in  a  different  light. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  197 

She  learned  now  that  Carryl's  entering  Harvard  was 
not  a  sudden  fancy.  She  gained  a  new  perception 
of  his  hereditary  bias,  when  she  heard  what  had  hap- 
pened on  the  evening  he  read  Emerson  to  his  sister. 

When  she  began,  Dorrice  had  not  intended  to 
relate  that  episode  ;  but  her  friend's  evident  sympa- 
thy, and  a  sense  of  the  share  she  had  borne  in  their 
brightened  fortunes,  drew  her  on.  Almost  before  she 
knew  it,  she  was  telling  of  the  anxious  days  when 
she  studied  the  Harvard  catalogue,  and  the  rest  of 
the  story  followed  inevitably.  Mrs.  Hallo  well  learned 
how  Deacon  Spinner  had  suddenly  appeared,  and  lo ! 
the  thousand  dollars,  that  had  been  the  supreme  long- 
ing arid  despair  of  her  life,  were  in  her  hands. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Dorrice,  with  tremulous  lips, 
"nobody  can  understand  —  can  feel  about  this  money 
as  we  do ;  but  it  is  sacred  to  us,  it  is  our  dead  moth- 
er's gift.  It  seems  a  solemn  duty  to  use  it  in  the 
way  she  would  wish." 

This  was  a  sort  of  reasoning  for  which  Mrs.  Hal- 
lowell  was  unprepared.  But  she  did  her  best.  She 
painted  Carryl's  business  prospects  in  colors  to  which 
her  friendship  added  vividness ;  she  talked  of  her 
husband's  disappointment  at  the  young  man's  cutting 
short  so  promising  a  career.  "Did  he  realize  what 
an  immensely  serious  step  he  was  taking?"  she 
asked. 

Dorrice's  eyes  showed  how  strongly  she  was 
moved.  "  Dear  Mrs.  Hallowell,"  she  answered,  "  you 
can  never  know  how  deeply  it  will  hurt  us,  after  all 
we  owe  you,  to  disappoint  you  now.  But  when  it 
comes  to  a  question  of  the  kind  of  man  Carryl  was 


198  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

meant  to  be, —  of  the  work  for  which  he  was  created, 
and  missing  which  he  must  always  miss  what,  for 
him,  must  be  the  true  purpose  of  his  life, —  ought  we 
to  let  anything  stand  in  the  way  —  ought  we  not  to 
be  ready  for  any  sacrifice  and  equal  to  any  daring  ? 
If  the  scholar's  life  did  not  seem  to  him  the  su- 
premely good  and  beautiful  tiling,  —  if  the  scholar's 
longing  were  not  deeper  with  him  than  any  other,  — 
he  would  certainly  better  continue  in  business ;  but 
all  men  are  not  made  alike,  you  know,  and  even  if 
he  should  be  successful,  and  gain  a  grand  fortune  at 
the  last,  he  might  still  feel  that  he  was  poor,  and  that 
his  life,  having  missed  its  real  purpose,  was  a  failure. 
For  if  men  had  not  always  lived  who  felt  there  was 
something  better  and  nobler  than  getting  money  and 
enjoying  it,  the  world  would  be  in  a  bad  case  to-day." 

This  was  a  kind  of  reasoning  to  which  Mrs.  Hal- 
lowell  was  not  used.  She  tried  to  maintain  her  side 
of  the  argument ;  but  it  struck  her  that  in  all  she 
said  afterward,  there  was  something  hard  and  mate- 
rial —  something  that  savored  of  the  Bourse  and  the 
Stock-board. 

At  the  last  she  said :  "  However  Mr.  Hallowell 
may  treat  this  new  idea,  I  know  he  has  your  brother's 
interests  at  heart.  When  you  talk  of  being  in  our 
debt,  there  is  Tom  in  your  scales,  Dorrice." 

They  parted  better  friends  than  ever. 


XXVI. 

THE  following  day,  after  breakfast,  Mrs.  Hallowell 
informed  her  husband  of  her  visit  to  Dorrice  Dacres. 

He  laid  down  his  paper,  and  listened  attentively 
to  all  the  details  of  the  interview ;  but,  in  the  present 
instance,  he  was  steeled  against  what  he  would  have 
termed  "mixing  up  sentiment  in  the  matter." 

When  his  wife  concluded,  he  answered  with  half  a 
sneer :  "  Strip  the  thing  of  those  high-flown  notions, 
and  what  trumpery  stuff  it  all  is !  The  fellow  is 
going  to  start  off  to  college  on  one  of  Emerson's 
talks  and  a  small  windfall  of  a  thousand  dollars.  It 
won't  carry  them  through  the  first  six  months.  What 
a  piece  of  egregious  folly  it  is  !  " 

Mrs.  Hallowell  did  not  reply  at  once.  In  all  prac- 
tical matters  she  had  great  respect  for  her  husband's 
opinions.  She  was  by  no  means  sure  that  he  was 
not  now  in  the  right;  still,  her  talk  with  Dorrice 
had  left  its  impression. 

Mr.  Hallowell  caught  the  look  in  his  wife's  eyes. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Emmeline,"  he  exclaimed, 
in  a  half  amused,  half  derisive  tone,  "  that  you  have 
been  talked  over  into  approving  of  this  consummate 
folly?" 

"  No,  I  don't  approve  of  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Hallow- 
ell, with  a  fine  stress  on  her  verb.  "  I  did  my  best 

199 


200  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

to  make  Dorrice  see  it  was  all  a  mistake ;  but  I  did 
not  succeed." 

"  Of  course  not.  In  such  cases  you  might  as  well 
attempt  to  argue  with  young  colts  afield.  I  can 
understand  how  that  pretty  little  head  of  his  sister's 
would  be  carried  away,  and  she  would  help  this  rattle- 
brained scheme  along.  She  will  find  out  to  her  own 
cost,  one  of  these  days,  what  she  has  been  about. 
The  old  deacon  appeared  on  the  scene  at  an  unlucky 
moment.  Of  course,  he  meant  well ;  but  his  thou- 
sand dollars  will  prove  their  evil  genius  in  the  end." 

"  It  troubles  me  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"  What  else  is  a  sensible  man  to  say  ?  Think  of 
young  Dacres  throwing  up  such  business  chances,  in 
order  to  muddle  his  brain  over  Greek  and  Latin  for 
the  next  four  years  !  " 

"  No,  only  three ;  he  intends  to  enter  the  sopho- 
more class." 

"  It's  all  one,  as  the  last  King  of  England  said 
when  he  granted  the  Quakers  an  audience,  and  they 
apologized  for  not  addressing  him  by  his  title.  Don't 
you  see  that  young  Dacres  is  going  to  make  a  devij- 
ish  ass  of  himself?  " 

"  Ask  me  that  question,  Ned,  ten  years  from  this 
time,  and  I  shall  be  better  able  to  answer  you." 

"  Emmeline,  do  you  want  to  drive  me  into  swear- 
ing at  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  because  you  would  be  horribly  ashamed  of 
yourself." 

"  It  can't  be  possible  that  you  can  look  at  this  mat- 
ter in  any  light  but  one  of  plain  common  sense.  How 
many  men  do  go  through  college  to  come  out  at  the 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  201 

little  end  of  the  horn  —  practical  failures  in  life ! 
The  years  they  waste  over  their  dead  languages 
would  fit  them  for  some  useful  business  —  put  them 
in  the  way  of  making  a  decent  living,  at  least." 

"  No  doubt  that  is  true ;  but  all  men  are  not  alike. 
There  are  many  who  fail  in  business,  too ;  but  that 
does  not  prove  there  is  nothing  in  it." 

"  I  haven't  a  word  to  say  against  colleges.  They're 
all  well  enough  for  those  who  can  afford  them,  and 
whose  tastes  lie  in  that  direction.  But  I  wonder 
where  you  would  have  been  to-day  if  I  had  happened 
to  get  a  college  craze  twenty  years  ago ! " 

"  You  dear  fellow ! "  Mrs.  Hallowell  softly  patted 
her  husband's  arm.  "It  would  have  been  worse  for 
me,  no  doubt.  Indeed,  it  would  go  hard  with  many 
women,  if  the  men  nearest  to  them  had  the  scholar's 
bent.  Dearly  as  I  love  you,  Ned,  I  could  not  make 
the  sacrifices  for  you  that  young  girl  is  so  eager  to 
make  for  her  brother." 

"  More  shame  to  him  that  he  will  permit  her  to 
think  of  them  !  But  I  am  thoroughly  disgusted  with 
young  Dacres.  He  went  into  the  business  as  though 
he  were  cut  out  for  it.  He  has  done  so  well,  too, 
this  year,  that  I  intended  to  give  him  a  couple  of 
hundred  dollars  over  and  above  his  wages,  telling 
-him  he  had  fairly  earned  it." 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  is  going  to  have  it,  too ! "  added 
Mrs.  Hallowell,  with  a  kind  of  gay  confidence. 

"That  will  be  as  I  say!"  commented  Mr.  Hal- 
lowell, as  lie  resumed  his  paper. 

"Oh,  no,  it  won't!"  It  was  on  Mrs.  Hallowell's 
tongue  to  rejoin ;  but  she  caught  herself  in  the  nick 


202  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

of  time.  She  knew  her  power  over  her  husband ;  she 
knew,  also,  its  limitations.  If,  in  his  present  irrita- 
ted mood,  he  should  vow  that  young  Dacres  should 
never  see  a  dollar  of  that  money,  he  would  keep  his 
word. 

Mr.  Hallowell's  vexation  at  this  time  had  its  root 
in  mixed  motives.  He  had  felt  a  real  friendliness 
for  Carryl  Dacres,  and  a  desire  to  advance  his  for- 
tunes. His  relations  with  the  young  man  had  been, 
from  the  beginning,  unlike  those  with  any  other  of 
his  subordinates.  Everybody  in  the  firm  perceived 
that  Dacres  was  a  favorite  with  its  head. 

But  Mr.  Hallowell  had  also  a  personal  interest  in 
not  wishing  to  part  with  Carryl.  He  gauged,  with  a 
business  man's  acuteness,  the  younger's  capacity  and 
integrity.  It  was  the  latter's  nature  to  do  thor- 
oughly whatever  he  attempted  ;  and  he  would  not 
permit  any  secret  hankerings  for  another  field  of 
work  to  interfere  with  the  one  which  fate  had 
ordained  him. 

It  was  not  Mr.  Hallowell's  fault,  either,  that  he 
could  at  this  time  see  only  one  side  of  the  shield  ; 
he  prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  the  world  ; 
he  had  been  the  architect  of  his  own  fortunes,  and 
was  profoundly  conscious  of  that  fact ;  he  naturally 
enjoyed  such  substantial  proofs  of  his  prosperity  as 
were  afforded  by  his  elegant  home  and  his  handsome 
turnout.  But  he  was  far  too  sensible  a  man,  and 
had  too  good  taste,  for  any  of  that  arrogance  of 
manner  which  is  brought  into  high  relief  by  the  sud- 
den acquisition  of  wealth  ;  he  was  always  equal  to 
the  occasion,  in  society,  in  his  own  house,  where  he 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  203 

was  gracious  and  dignified,  fond  of  dispensing  his 
hospitalities,  and  equal  to  taking  his  part  in  discuss- 
ing English  and  American  politics ;  while  he  mostly 
left  the  pictures  and  pottery,  though  he  had  tastes  in 
these,  to  his  wife. 

To  a  mind  and  temperament  of  this  order,  Carry  1 
Dacres'  project  could  appear  little  short  of  moon- 
struck madness. 

Long  before  this,  the  young  man  had  read  the  char- 
acter of  his  employer,  and  understood  its  limitations 
and  weak  points ;  but  he  was  bound  to  him  by  many 
ties  of  association  and  gratitude.  Carryl  could 
never  forget  what  he  owed  to  Mr.  Hallowell,  even 
if,  as  his  guest,  he  had  not  been  brought  into  fre- 
quent contact  with  the  agreeable,  domestic  side  o£. 
the  man. 

All  these  things  were  strong  factors  in  Mr.  Hal- 
lowell's  influence  ;  and,  had  he  used  it  with  discre- 
tion at  this  time,  Carryl  might  never  have  brought 
himself  to  take  the  momentous  step  which  he  was 
now  contemplating. 

But,  in  their  subsequent  talks,  the  elder  man 
treated  the  younger's  ideas  with  such  undisguised 
contempt  that  Carryl  was  frozen  into  resentful 
silence. 

This  opposition  only  served  to  give  him  a  keener 
repugnance  to  his  work ;  while  the  scholar's  passion 
grew  stronger  within  him,  and  the  scholar's  life 
spread  its  horizons,  spacious  and  shining,  before  his 
imagination. 

The  young  man  had  a  secret  conviction,  too,  that 
he  had  reached  the  great  crisis  of  his  life  ;  that,  if  he 


204  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

did  not  seize  the  present  chance,  it  would  be  his 
last ;  that,  if  he  continued  longer  in  business,  the 
fine  edge  of  his  aspiration  would  wear  away ;  and 
that,  whatever  financial  successes  might  await  him, 
he  would  always  have  a  consciousness  that  for  him 
they  had  been  "  the  mess  of  pottage  for  which  he 
had  sold  his  birthright." 

Carryl  made  the  most  of  every  hour  for  study 
which  business  admitted  during  these  days.  But 
there  came  times  when  he  would  brush  his  books 
aside,  and  pace  the  room  with  the  long,  nervous 
stride  that  suggested  a  hunter  upon  the  hills. 
"  Dorrice,"  he  would  break  out  passionately,  "  I  dare 
say  I  am  a  brute  to  let  you  make  all  these  sacrifices 
for  me !  I  see  perfectly  what  Hallowell  thinks  of  it. 
Perhaps  he  is  in  the  right,  too.  Because  giving  up 
the  thing  I  want,  striving  and  reaching  for  some- 
thing I  don't,  seems,  at  times,  like  the  bitterness  of 
death,  may  prove  nothing  more  than  that  I  have 
inherited  strong  tastes  and  tendencies  in  a  certain 
direction.  But  I  may  be  a  very  insignificant  entity, 
and  have  a  very  slight  r61e  to  play  in  the  big  drama, 
after  all." 

"  Please  don't  go  on  in  that  way,  Carryl !  " 
"Yes,  I  shall  too."  His  staccato  would  silence 
her.  "  And  all  the  more,  because  I  don't  want  you 
should  have  any  illusions  about  this  matter.  You 
will  hold  on  —  you  have  the  grip  of  the  gods,  when 
you  once  make  up  your  mind  to  a  thing.  But  you 
may  make  a  mistake,  this  time.  If  I  throw  up  busi- 
ness for  college,  I  see  too  clearly  what  it  must  mean 
for  you.  It  will  be  a  long  strain,  a  heavy  sacrifice 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  205 

—  no — don't  interrupt  me  —  I  know  what  splendid 
things  you  have  done,  and  that  you  are  ready  to 
move  heaven  and  earth  for  me  to-day !  But  I  want 
you  to  look  at  me  as  I  am  —  not  through  the  lens  of 
your  pride  and  affection.  I  am  not  sure  of  myself. 
I  have  my  vacant  moods  and  barren  spaces,  when  it 
seems  as  though  I  had  no  latent  power  —  only  strong 
impulses  and  longings  that  may  never  achieve  any- 
thing, to  speak  of.  It  would  be  tragic  enough,  if  you 
made  all  this  sacrifice  and  effort  for  a  fellow  who 
proved  himself  of  small  account,  in  the  end.  I 
should  be  filled  with  infinite  remorse  to  find  out,  at 
last,  that  you  had  done  that." 

When  he  talked  in  this  strain,  she  never  attempted 
to  reason  with  him.  But  she  would  go  to  him,  look 
in  his  eyes,  with  a  beautiful,  exultant  shining  in  her 
own,  and  say,  simply,  "  I  am  not  afraid  to  take  the 
risks,  Carryl ! " 

All  this  young  courage,  and  faith,  and  devotion, 
were  needed  to  brace  him  during  these  days,  when 
he  feared  —  and  she  knew  it  —  little  for  himself,  and 
much  for  his  sister. 

But  the  next  autumn,  Carryl  Dacres  took  the  irrev- 
ocable step.  He  passed  the  freshman  examinations, 
and  entered  the  sophomore  class  at  Harvard. 


XXVII. 

IT  was  summer  again,  and  two  years  later.  They 
had  been  happy,  busy  years  to  the  young  people. 
Only  youth,  and  health,  and  high  enthusiasm  could 
have  held  their  lives  at  this  tension.  There  might 
be  danger  of  reactions ;  but,  thus  far,  there  was  no 
sign  of  flagging  nerves  or  energies. 

It  was  much  in  their  favor  that  this  eager,  alert, 
studious  life  was  their  native  air.  But  there  was 
much,  also,  in  the  quality  of  both  brother  and  sister, 
that  would  prevent  either  ever  turning  into  a  book- 
worm. 

Dorrice's  figures  had  proved  correct,  in  the  main, 
and  the  problem  of  ways  and  means,  when  put  to  a 
practical  solution,  was  not  quite  so  formidable  as  she 
had  anticipated.  Daily  economies  and  denials  are 
not  agreeable ;  but  a  great  purpose  lightens  and 
sanctifies  them.  Perhaps  this  time  was  harder  for 
Carryl  than  for  his  sister,  as  he  was  thrown  con- 
stantly into  intimate  relations  with  rich  men's  sons, 
and  the  contrasts  were  sometimes  galling.  But  the 
philosophy  with  which  he  had  once  worn  his  old 
coat  stood  him  in  good  stead  now.  His  classmates 
called  him  "a  dig,"  but  there  was  much  about  the 
studious  youth  which  was  certain,  in  time,  to  make 
him  a  favorite  with  those  who  knew  him  best. 

900 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  207 

Dorrice  kept  on  with  her  small  school ;  its  num- 
bers occasionally  re-enforced,  through  Mrs.  Hal- 
lowell's  influence,  or  by  the  young  teacher's  success 
with  her  pupils.  These  occupied  three  of  the  morn- 
ing hours.  Carryl  usually  returned  from  his  recita- 
tions in  high  spirits,  which  rejoiced  his  sister's  heart ; 
she  compared  the  bright,  eager  face  with  the  moody 
one  which  he  often  brought  back  at  the  close  of  day 
from  the  office.  He  had  found  his  right  place  in  the 
world  now,  and  the  great  law  of  transmitted  apti- 
tudes made  the  daily  study  a  perpetual  delight  to 
him. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  continued  the  young  people's 
stanch  friend.  Dorrice  went  to  lunch  with  her  every 
week,  while  she  and  her  brother  received  occasional 
invitations  to  dinner. 

Mr.  Hallowell  had  not  in  the  least  changed  his 
mind  as  to  the  madness  of  the  step  which  young 
Dacres  had  taken.  In  his  first  vexation,  he  declared 
he  had  no  wish  ever  to  set  eyes  on  him,  and  was 
willing  the  young  fellow  should  go  to  the  dogs  for 
all  him. 

But  when  the  women  of  two  households  are  bent 
on  maintaining  pleasant  social  relations,  the  male 
members  usually  acquiesce.  Carryl  had  always  been 
able  to  see  his  employer's  view  of  the  matter  in  dis- 
pute, and  to  sympathize  with  him  so  far  that  he  felt 
no  resentment,  after  the  first  heat  of  their  angry 
interviews  had  subsided.  The  elder  man  could  not 
meet  his  former  clerk  at  his  own  table  without  some 
revival  of  his  old  friendly  interest. 

Mrs.  Hallowell  was  right  about  the  two  hundred 


208  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

dollars.  Her  husband,  when  he  added  this  to 
Carryl's  last  payment,  had  the  grace  to  assure  the 
young  man  he  had  fairly  earned  it.  It  formed  a 
most  welcome  supplement  to  the  carefully  husbanded 
resources  of  the  young  people. 

Mr.  Hallowell's  liking  for  Dorrice  had  not  been 
affected  by  the  part  she  had  played  in  her  brother's 
entering  Harvard.  He  set  all  that  down  to  her 
young  ignorance  ;  and  the  pretty  face  won  indemnity 
for  what  he  regarded  as  her  folly. 

"  She  seems  to  be  growing  prettier  every  time  I 
set  my  eyes  on  her,"  he  would  say  to  his  wife.  "  I 
wonder  if  she  knows  just  how  lovely  a  creature  she 
is  !  "  he  would  add,  with  masculine  fatuity. 

Mrs.  Hallowell's  amused  laugh  answered  her  hus- 
band. "  Trust  a  woman  for  that !  "  she  said.  "  Do 
you  suppose  that  girl  can  enter  a  horse-car  and  be 
blind  to  the  admiring  glances  that  are  bent  on  her? 
But  my  little  lady  has  made  up  her  mind  that  her 
pretty  face  shall  not  turn  her  head !  Besides,  she 
has,  just  now,  you  know,  something  else  to  think 
about." 

"More's  the  pity,"  growled  the  man. 

Dorrice's  painting-lessons  came  into  play  at  this 
juncture.  She  executed  some  pleasing  work  in 
plaques  and  panels,  which  formed  a  welcome  tribu- 
tary to  the  main  currents  of  their  income. 

She  had  personal  ambitions,  too ;  she  resolved  she 
would  do  her  utmost  to  keep  abreast  of  Carryl  in 
certain  departments  of  his  studies,  mainly  those  of 
history  and  belles-lettres.  "  You  shall  not  be  finding 
out  one  of  these  days,"  she  said,  with  a  little  defiant 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  209 

shake  of  her  head,  "  that  we  can  have  no  intellectual 
pleasures  in  common." 

Carryl  laughingly  assured  her  that  was  all 
a  piece  of  unmitigated  nonsense.  She  would 
know  quite  enough,  all  her  life,  for  his  masculine 
complacency. 

But  she  held  to  her  purpose,  and,  as  she  shared  his 
aptitudes  for  study,  she  did  not  lag  so  far  behind 
him  in  Virgil  or  Horace,  that  the  reading  them  was 
not  a  source  of  much  mutual  stimulation  and  enjoy- 
ment. One  evening,  when  the  lessons  were  over, 
Dorrice  said  to  her  brother,  after  showing  him  a 
small  thing  she  had  painted  on  china  for  Mrs.  Hallo- 
well,  —  a  branch  of  wild-brier  roses,  with  a  red- 
breasted  robin  atilt  on  it :  "  Oh,  yes !  it  is  all  well 
enough.  I  can  imitate  tolerably.  But  I  can't  create 
anything.  There  is  the  difference  between  me  and 
a  born  artist.  I  am  a  dreadfully  limited  creature. 
It  is  a  nice  thing,  no  doubt,  to  paint  roses  and  golden- 
tipped  butterflies;  but  I  should  like  to  get  the  low- 
ering gloom  of  some  mighty  storm,  a  stretch  of  wet 
sea-beach,  a  glory  of  mountain  sunrise,  on  my  can- 
vas. Do  you  know,  Carryl,  I  shall  always  fill  an 
awfully  small  niche  ?  " 

"  Talk  of  niches !  "  Carryl  replied.  "  What  sort 
of  one  do  you  suppose  I  should  ever  have  filled 
without  you  ?  " 

At  the  end  of  his  second  year  at  Harvard,  the 
domestic  finances  had  fallen  so  low  that  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  look  out  for  a  place  to  teach  during  the 
vacation. 

It  was  decided  to  close  the  rooms  on  Pinckney 


210  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Street  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  Dorrice  would 
keep  her  promise  to  Deacon  Spinner,  and  visit  Fox- 
low.  The  programme  had  been  barely  arranged 
between  them,  when  something  happened  which 
altered  Carryl's  share.  A  party  of  his  classmates 
were  going  into  the  Adiroudacks  for  some  weeks, 
boating  and  fishing.  They  were  good  fellows,  bent 
on  having  a  grand  lark.  Two  or  three  had  flunked, 
more  or  less,  at  their  lessons,  and  needed  some 
coaching  during  the  vacation,  but  wanted  "some- 
body around  who  wouldn't  spoil  the  fun." 

Young  Dacres  was  a  favorite  with  one  of  the  fel- 
lows, who  proposed  to  his  classmates  that  he  should 
be  asked  to  go  along  and  help  them  with  the  lan- 
guages. When  they  assented,  the  proposition  was 
made  to  Carry  1.  It  was  vastly  better  than  anything 
he  could  have  imagined  for  himself. 

One  day,  a  little  after  midsummer,  when  Carryl 
had  entered  the  senior  class,  Dorrice  was  busy  mak- 
ing her  last  arrangements  for  the  double  trip. 
Carryl  was  to  accompany  her  to  Foxlow,  remain  a 
couple  of  days,  and  then  rejoin  his  classmates  for  the 
Adirondacks.  "  What  a  splendid  thing  it  will  be  for 
you,  Carryl ! "  Dorrice  often  said.  "  What  a  splendid 
thing  for  me,  when  you  come  back,  and  we  can  live 
it  all  over  together ! "  She  would  not  permit  herself 
to  dwell  on  the  thought  that  this  was  to  be  the 
longest  separation  which  had,  thus  far,  occurred  in 
their  lives. 

Dorrice  was  thinking,  too,  in  that  busy  summer- 
afternoon,  as  she  moved  about  the  rooms,  intent  on 
her  packing,  what  a  different  going  back  to  Foxlow 


A   BOSTON   GIRI/S   AMBITIONS.  211 

this  was  from  the  one  they  had  looked  forward  to 
almost  five  years  ago.  Her  heart  sang  like  a  bird's, 
for  joy,  as  her  memory  glanced  over  the  years  which 
lay  in  such  fair  lights  behind  her ;  and  the  cares  and 
the  anxieties  that  had  often  shadowed  the  days  were 
faint  and  dim  now,  as  the  memory  of  their  storms. 

Carryl,  who  had  been  out  on  some  errand,  returned 
with  a  letter  for  Dorrice.  She  knew,  at  a  glance,  the 
handwriting  of  Mrs.  Hallowell,  who  was  at  the 
White  Mountains.  Before  she  opened  the  letter,  she 
had  an  impression  that  it  contained  some  momentous 
news  for  herself.  A  little  later,  this  impression  was 
confirmed.  Mr.  Hallowell  found  it  necessary  to  go 
West,  for  some  weeks,  on  a  business  trip ;  he  might 
get  two-thirds  across  the  continent ;  he  much  desired 
his  wife  should  accompany  him.  It  would  be  incon- 
venient to  have  Tom  along.  They  did  not  like  to 
leave  him  alone  at  the  hotel.  There  was  but  one 
solution  of  the  problem.  Mrs.  Hallowell  proposed 
that  Dorrice  should  join  them  at  the  Glen  House, 
and  remain  during  their  absence.  The  rooms  and 
the  maid  were  placed  at  her  command. 

"Tom  is  just  wild  with  delight  over  the  thought 
of  your  coming,"  wrote  his  mother.  "I  think,  my 
dear,  you  will  have  a  happy  time,  in  the  midst  of 
this  novel  scenery,  beside  doing  us  an  immense 
favor." 

When  Dorrice  had  finished  her  letter,  she  handed 
it  to  Carryl,  without  a  word. 

When  he,  in  his  turn,  had  read  it,  they  sat  still  a 
few  moments,  looking  at  each  other. 

At  last  Dorrice  said,  in  a  half  awed,  half  exultant 


212  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

tone ;  "  Carryl,  what  a  way  lovely  surprises  have  of 
coming  to  us  ! " 

"You  are  right,  little  sister."  It  was  not  often, 
now,  that  he  used  the  old  pet  name. 

It  was  necessary  to  telegraph  at  once.  There 
could  be  but  one  reply  to  Mrs.  Hallowell. 


XXVIII. 

DORBICE  D ACRES  had  been  a  week  at  the  Glen 
House,  when  she  wrote  a  letter  to  her  brother,  a  part 
of  which  ran  :  — 

"  I  have  just  returned  with  Tom  from  a  drive  to 
Glen  Ellis  Fall ;  and  you  are  to  have  my  next  half- 
hour,  snatched  for  you  out  of  the  divinest  day  that 
ever  shone  on  the  world  since  the  morning  stars  sang 
for  joy  over  that  first  one  ! 

"  Oh,  Carryl  —  the  flash  and  plunge  and  tumult  of 
the  water,  like  some  live,  fierce,  splendid  creature, 
shooting  down  to  the  dark  pool,  a  hundred  feet 
below,  dazzle  my  eyes  still !  How  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  it  all,  and  the  grim,  solemn  wildness  amid 
which  that  life  and  passion  leap  and  foam. 

"  If  you  could  only  be  with  me,  too,  as  I  sit  here 
by  the  window,  and  look  up  to  where  Washington 
pushes  its  huge,  granite  shoulder  against  the  sky,  and 
the  softest,  pearl-blue  mists  cling  and  loiter,  and  get 
entangled  and  ravelled  out  on  the  ridges  and  among 
the  slopes  of  this  glorious  old  Range ;  while,  just 
now,  Madison  hides  its  forehead  under  a  great, 
white,  shining  hood  of  fog. 

"  I  know  you  are  laughing  at  me  by  this  time  ! 
No  wonder  my  pen  has  run  away  with  me !  The 

213 


214  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

merest  clod  in  the  world  ought  to  be  transformed  to 
a  poet  by  the  infinite  beauty  and  grandeur  of  these 
Mountains,  and  by  the  unutterable  loveliness  of  this 
Paradise  at  their  feet ! 

"  But  you  are  in  the  presence  of  the  Kings,  too  ! 
I  often  think  what  a  double  miracle  it  is  —  this 
mountain-summer  of  yours  and  mine  ;  and  yet  it  all 
came  about  as  though  it  were  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  that  the  Adirondacks  should  come  to 
you  —  the  White  Mountains  to  me  ! 

"  I  suppose,  however,  that  Eden-Garden  would  not 
have  been  quite  the  same  to  Eve,  with  Adam  away, 
and  so  I  occasionally  think  my  Paradise  would  be  a 
little  better  if  the  only  Adam  /  shall  ever  have  were 
here  to  enjoy  it  with  me. 

"  Tom  is  a  dear,  naughty,  affectionate  little  rogue  ! 
He  is  in  a  seventh  heaven  here,  trotting  endlessly 
about  the  piazzas,  tumbling  over  the  huge,  good- 
natured  mastiffs,  marching  off  with  them  into  the 
woods  and  along  the  banks  of  the  little,  sparkling 
Peabody. 

"  There  are  delightful  people  here.  All  dear  Mrs. 
Hallowell's  friends  are  as  civil  as  possible,  and  I 
have  my  share  of  attentions  and  —  nice  speeches  ! 

"  There  are  girls  here,  too,  lovely  enough  to  steal 
a  march  on  your  heart,  despite  all  its  masculine  de- 
fences ! 

"  One  of  these,  to  whom  I  have  taken  a  fancy, 
said  to  me,  with  a  pout,  as  she  tossed  down  a  letter 
she  had  just  read :  '  That  is  like  Jack,  for  all  the 
world  !  He  gave  me  his  word  he  would  be  here 
Saturday  night,  and  now  those  fellows  from  Yale 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  215 

have  got  hold  of  him,  and  he  is  going  off  for  a  week 
to  Lake  George.  I  do  think  brothers  are  such 
nuisances.' 

"  '  I  suppose  they  are  —  sometimes,'  I  replied. 

"  One  must  say  something,  you  know.  But  / 
thought  of  a  brother  who  once,  in  his  old  attic-days, 
went  without  his  lunches  for  a  fortnight,  to  buy  his 
sister  a  Christmas  present,  so  she  might  be  like 
other  girls  that  happy  day  ;  and  when  she  opened 
her  eyes  in  its  morning,  lo  !  there  was  a  warm, 
bright-colored  jacket,  with  a  branch  of  red-berried 
holly,  on  the  chair  by  her  bed.  Do  you  remember 
it  —  and  how  perfectly  the  jacket  fitted,  and  how 
warm  it  kept  her  under  her  shabby  cloak,  that 
winter? 

"  She  would  never  have  known  the  truth,  either, 
if  it  hadn't  come  out,  long  afterward,  by  the  merest 
accident. 

"  Such  a  brother  has  been !  The  future  should 
hold  all  noble  fortunes  for  him  !  I  believe  it  does. 
But  he  will  never  be  a  greater  hero  than  he  was 
when  he  tramped  the  streets  in  those  winter  days  ! 

"  Now  don't  go  to  pluming  yourself  on  my  praises ! 
You  know  it  is  my  private  conviction  that  you  are  a 
dreadfully  obstinate,  aggravating  biped  for  one  small 
feminine  to  manage,  who  has  got  you  on  her  hands 
for  —  the  next  half-century,  if  Heaven  so  pleases! 

"  You  always  were  a  reckless  rascal !  Please  don't 
risk  your  precious  neck  in  climbs,  and  hunts,  and 
swims,  that  just  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end  to  read 
about ! 

"  Next  week  I  expect  to  have  some  grand  times  ! 


216  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

A  party  of  us  —  some  young  and  some  not  —  are 
going  over  to  Jefferson  to  see,  from  the  Waumbek 
piazzas,  the  wide,  beautiful  landscapes  we  are  always 
hearing  about;  and,  later,  we  shall  drive  over  to 
Jackson,  the  little  hamlet  which  Thorn  Mountain 
looks  down  to  see  cradled  at  its  feet,  with  its  be- 
witching Falls  and  lovely  bits  of  scenery,  that  draw 
the  artists  every  summer. 

"  Then,  there  is  to  be  the  crowning  day  of  all, 
when  I  go  up  Mount  Washington,  and  the  dear  old, 
familiar  world  lies  far  below  me,  almost  like  another 
planet.  Each  night,  when  skies  are  clear,  I  look 
from  my  window,  to  see  how,  afar  on  the  summit, 
the  light  shines,  like  a  great  star  in  the  heavens. 

"  Now,  my  Harvard  boy,  don't  let  your  canoes 
and  camps,  your  bears  and  birds,  your  trout  and 
deer,  beguile  you  into  breaking  that  promise  to  write 
every  other  day !  I  won't  complain  though  every 
other  sentence  holds  a  bit  of  your  horrid  Harvard 
slang ! 

"  Oh,  Carryl,  just  here  at  the  last,  my  heart  must 
have  its  way!  God,  the  God  of  our  dear  dead 
mother,  take  care  of  you  !  DOKKICE." 

A  few  days  later,  Carryl's  reply  ran :  — 

"  I  answer  your  last  under  difficulties.  Hosts  on 
every  side  of  me  are  eager  to  drink  my  blood  — 
midgets,  black  flies,  mosquitoes  !  I  keep  up  an  un- 
equal fight  with  my  left  hand,  until  they  come  upon 
me  in  such  myriads  that  I  drop  my  pen  and  go  at 
them  for  my  life  ! 


A   BOSTON   GTRI/S   AMBITIONS.  217 

"  But,  despite  these  enemies  of  man,  we  are  having 
hugely  jolly  times  in  these  primeval  wildernesses. 
We  must  seem  like  the  pre-historic  savages,  come 
back  to  their  old  haunts,  as  we  make  these  ancient 
solitudes  ring  with  our  songs  and  yells  and  war- 
whoops  ! 

"  Boating  and  fishing,  tramping  and  hunting  — 
there  you  have  the  heads  of  each  day's  history  —  all 
the  rest  would  be  an  expansion  of  these  topics !  We 
bring  back  to  the  camp,  each  night,  the  appetites 
of  long-fasting  savages !  I  am  as  strong  as  some 
Athlete  who  bore  off  the  prize  in  a  Greek  race,  more 
than  two  thousand  years  ago,  and  as  brown  as  a 
Bedouin  to  boot ! 

"One  thing  I  am  sure  of  —  the  first  denizens  of 
this  planet  were  the  only  ones  who  ever  got  at  the 
secret  of  happiness.  A  fellow  believes  that,  when  he 
has  cut  civilization,  and  can  sing  his  Vanitas  vani- 
tatum  over  all  the  fool's-chases  in  the  world ! 

"  I,  too,  could  wax  eloquent  over  the  trout  in  these 
waters — the  deer  in  these  woods;  but  all  that  would 
be  wasted  on  —  feminines  ! 

"  Two  days  ago,  something  happened  which  proved 
to  me  that  I  still  retained  a  ghost  of  a  conscience,  or  a 
fibre  of  heart.  I  was  under  cover,  among  some  hem- 
locks, on  the  shore  of  a  little  blue  bowl  of  lake, 
when  lo  !  a  deer  —  a  splendid  creature  —  sprang  out 
of  the  forest,  ran  down  to  the  water,  and  began  to 
nibble  at  the  thick  lily-pads.  The  prize  was  within 
a  few  rods  of  me.  I  raised  my  rifle  to  shoot,  and 
then,  just  at  the  critical  moment,  I  winced.  I  tell 
you,  Dorrice  Dacres,  I  couldn't  send  that  free,  beau- 


218  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

tiful  creature  out  of  life  !  What  business  had  I 
to  do  it  ?  He  had  as  good  a  right  to  his  existence 
as  I  to  mine.  It  seemed  a  barbarous  thing  to 
kill  him.  My  hand  dropped.  The  next  instant 
something  startled  him  ;  and  he  was  off  into  the 
forest. 

"  A  moment  later,  Walters  came  panting  up  : 
4  Dacres,'  he  began,  'we  ought  to  tar  and  feather 
you.  Such  a  beauty,  and  you  had  covered  him  with 
your  rifle  !  Why  didn't  you  shoot  ?  ' 

" '  There's  the  rub !  If  you  ever  had  a  twinge  of 
conscience  at  the  most  inconvenient  time,  you  know 
as  much  about  the  matter  as  I  do  ! ' 

"  '  Confound  your  conscience !  What  business  had 
it  to  interfere,  and  that  splendid  creature  under  your 
rifle  !  You  won't  be  squeamish  to-night,  I'll  wager. 
I've  noticed  you  go  into  the  venison  as  heavy  as  the 
rest  of  us  ! ' 

" '  Of  course.  Do  you  expect  a  fellow  to  be 
always  consistent  ? ' 

"  He  chaffed  me  mercilessly.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  be  the  butt  of  the  camp  for  the  next  twenty-four 
hours.  But  Walters  is  a  prime  fellow ;  he  has  never 
peached. 

"  What  a  high  Jubilate  you  set  up  over  your  White 
Mountains !  I  send  you  back  Exultemus  from  the 
heart  of  these  old  Adirondacks. 

"Much  joy  to  your  pretty  girls  !  Only  just  now  I 
am  intent  on  other  quarry. 

"  You  must  be  horribly  in  want  of  material  for  a 
hero,  or  you  never  would  resort  to  getting  one  up 
out  of  a  fellow  who  could  manage  to  go  without  his 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  219 

lunches  on  occasion  !  He  still  has  the  grace  to  won- 
der whether  he  is  not  the  greatest  scamp  and  scala- 
wag in  creation  to  see  his  young  sister  make  such 
sacrifices  in  order  to  get  him  through  Harvard  — 
especially  as  he  may  turn  out  a  negative  quantity,  for 
all  her  pains!  If  there  happens  to  be  some  saving 
stuff  in  him,  he  means  to  make  what  amends  he  can 
to  '  the  only  Eve  he  will  ever  have '  for  all  she  has 
done  for  him. 

"So  I  am  an  'obstinate,  aggravating  biped,'  am  I? 
No  doubt  it  is  wholesome  to  see  one's  portrait  drawn 
by  an  impartial  hand !  Suppose  I  take  my  turn 
at  yours.  Here  goes  :  As  though  I  didn't  know,  all 
the  time,  just  what  an  imperious  little  minx  you  are, 
always  managing  to  take  the  wind  out  of  a  fellow's 
sails,  and  having  your  own  way  ninety-nine  times 
out  of  a  hundred  ! 

"But  your  chef  d'oeuvre  must  still  remain  your 
arguing  and  coaxing,  your  wheedling  and  forcing  me 
into  Harvard.  When  I  contemplate  that  feat,  I  am 
still  lost  in  amazement  and  admiration.  But  you 
will,  like  the  Duke  of  Marl  borough,  labor  all  your 
life  under  the  disadvantage  of  having  executed  a 
masterpiece.  Any  future  achievement  of  yours  must 
pale  before  that  crowning  one. 

"  The  fellows  here  are  a  splendid  set,  jolly,  good- 
hearted,  grand  on  a  lark  —  gentlemen,  too,  to  the 
core.  I  have  yet  to  know  one  of  them  utter  a  word 
I  should  blush  to  have  my  sister  hear.  So,  you  see, 
I  have  at  present  no  need  to  brace  my  morals  with 
Virgil's,  — 

*  Facilis  descensus  Avernus.' 


220  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"Now,  good  night,  little  woman.  God  bless  her! 
How  bravely  she  pulled  with  me  over  the  rough 
places,  —  through  the  bitter  weather! 

"  The  camp-fire  burns  low,  and  I  hear  the  wild  cry 
of  the  loon  on  the  lake  and  the  hooting  of  the  owl  in 
the  pines.  I  look  up  and  see,  through  the  branches, 
the  dear  old  stars  in  the  steadfast  heavens,  and  I 
think  how  they  shine  at  this  moment  over  a  little 
brown  head  that  lies  fast  asleep  at  the  Glen  House. 

"And  I  say  to  the  stars  what  I  should  never 
say  to  somebody,  lest  she  might  take  on  the  airs 
of  Juno  if  I  did,  '  The  bravest  sister,  the  tenderest, 
the  best,  a  brother  ever  had ! '  CARRYL." 


XXIX.  _ 

THE  morning  Dorrice  received  this  letter,  she  set 
out  for  a  walk.  This  time  she  went  alone,  and  was 
soon  deep  among  the  wildness  and  fragrance  of  the 
woods  that  border  the  Peabody. 

Dorrice  was  used  to  long  walks.  She,  as  well  as 
Carryl,  had,  from  their  earliest  remembrance,  lived 
much  in  the  open  air.  They  owed  largely  to  this 
habit  the  splendid  health  which  had  borne  some 
severe  strains  without  serious  faltering. 

As  a  result  of  her  early  training,  Dorrice  was  a 
famous  walker;  her  light,  swift  limbs  could  keep 
abreast  of  Carryl's  long  strides  on  a  six  or  eight 
miles'  tramp. 

That  morning,  soft  gauzy  draperies  of  mist  hung 
about  the  peaks,  and  rolled  great  silver  and  pearl- 
colored  folds  down  into  the  ravines  and  chasms  of 
the  mountains.  There  was  a  thin  veiling  of  vapor 
over  the  sky,  a  veiling  frayed  and  broken  in  places, 
showing  spaces  of  the  loveliest  midsummer  blue. 

The  day  was  very  warm ;  not  a  breath  of  wind 
stirred  the  leaves  in  the  green,  dim  depths  of  the 
wood.  Dorrice  strayed  on  through  the  winding  vistas, 
unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time  ;  she  came  upon  all 
sorts  of  lovely  surprises  in  rare-tinted  leaves  and 
mottled  mosses  and  velvety  lichens. 

221 


222  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

She  wore  that  morning  a  gray  dress,  of  some  soft, 
woolly  texture,  whose  folds  clung  close  to  her  pliant 
slenderness.  A  gray  shade-hat,  wreathed  with  some 
silky  material  of  the  same  hue,  matched  the  dress. 
The  gray  gleamed,  soft  and  cool,  against  the  world  of 
green.  The  graceful  figure,  gliding  about  the  ancient 
boles  and  among  the  dusky  vistas  of  the  forest, 
seemed  like  some  dryad  revisiting  her  old  haunts. 

At  last,  a  little  tired  with  the  long  ramble,  the 
girl  threw  herself  down  at  the  foot  of  a  great  white- 
birch  tree.  On  one  side  of  her  the  roots  of  a  half- 
dead  cedar  were  covered  over  with  moss.  The  vivid 
greens  and  mottled  browns  formed  a  rare  mosaic. 

Through  the  birch  canopy,  far  above  her,  broken 
sunbeams  glanced  and  quivered  upon  the  ground, 
like  live  restless  things.  She  heard  the  dreamy 
sounds  of  the  forest  in  summer  noondays,  —  the 
drone  of  insects,  the  stir  of  leaves,  the  low  tinkling 
of  streams. 

A  look  of  still  happiness  grew  upon  her  face.  She 
took  off  her  hat  and  placed  it  by  the  side  of  the 
handkerchief  she  had  filled  with  bright-colored 
things.  Then  she  heard  a  robin  sing  suddenly  in 
the  distance ;  it  seemed  to  sing  something  that  was 
in  her  heart  at  that  moment.  She  saw  a  great  crim- 
son-winged butterfly  alight,  like  a  flaming  jewel,  on 
the  moss.  The  wide  patchwork  of  greens  and  browns 
ran  suddenly  together.  The  young  head  drooped 
against  the  bole  of  the  ancient  birch,  and  in  that 
warm,  drowsy  stillness  Dorrice  Dacres  fell  fast  asleep. 

Ten  minutes  later,  a  lady  came  slowly  through  the 
wood  and  along  the  slight  footpath  which  led  near 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  223 

the  white-birch.  She  had  been  wandering  on  the 
banks  of  the  Peabody,  watching  the  brown  wimpling 
waters,  and  at  last  she  had  strolled  away  from  the 
heat  and  the  voices  of  the  stream,  into  the  cool  dim- 
ness of  the  woods.  She  had  a  beautiful  face.  Its 
fine  outlines  struck  one  first;  but  these  were  soon 
lost  sight  of  in  a  charm  of  expression  which  made 
this  woman's  face  rare  among  ten  thousand  faces. 
Soft,  fluffy  gray  hair  formed  a  shining  aureole  about 
the  low  brow  and  the  delicate  temples.  You  might 
have  hesitated  to  pronounce  this  woman,  with  the 
rich-toned  complexion  and  the  clear,  deep  azure  of 
her  eyes,  more  than  forty  years  old,  though  she  was 
in  reality  past  fifty. 

She  was  rather  above  medium  height ;  she  wore  a 
black  walking-dress,  and  a  shawl  —  a  soft,  white, 
fleecy  thing  —  was  drawn  about  her  shoulders.  Even 
her  garments  seemed  to  have  caught  some  of  the 
simple  grace  of  the  wearer. 

As  she  made  her  way  along  the  slightly  defined 
footpath,  there  was  a  curious  gray  gleam  on  her 
right.  When  she  caught  sight  of  that,  she  paused 
and  turned  aside,  with  a  look  of  roused  curiosity. 
A  few  steps  from  the  path  she  came  where  the  girl 
slept  under  the  flickering  shadows  of  the  birch- 
leaves. 

The  lady  gave  a  little  half-suppressed  cry.  Dor- 
rice,  her  head  pillowed  against  the  smooth  bole  of 
the  white-birch,  lay  sleeping  the  perfect  sleep  of 
youth  and  health  ;  her  limbs  had  taken  a  pose  simple 
and  graceful  as  an  infant's.  Bright  masses  of  hair 
clung  about  her  forehead;  into  them  broken  sun- 


224  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

beams  shot  golden  glints.  Brown  lashes,  curled, 
stamen-like,  shaded  her  cheeks.  The  pure  olive  skin 
had  an  unusual  pink  flush.  The  fine  modelling  of 
chin  and  cheek  and  brow  did  not  escape  the  stran- 
ger's long,  intent  gaze. 

At  last,  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  looked  about 
her  curiously.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  one  at 
hand.  She  noticed  the  gray  hat,  and  the  handker- 
chief with  its  curious,  bright-lined  contents. 

At  that  sight,  a  little  amused  smile  crept  about 
her  lips ;  but  it  did  not  chase  away  some  wistfulness 
that  had  grown  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  can't  go  away  now,  and  leave  her  alone,"  the 
stranger  said  to  herself,  in  a  voice  not  so  loud  as  that 
of  a  yellow  bee  humming  on  a  hardback-flower  at 
her  feet.  She  sat  down  on  the  ground,  and  the 
steady,  wistful  gaze  grew  into  a  tender  one.  Her 
face  showed  that  some  memory  was  astir  in  her 
thoughts.  She  did  not  miss  one  of  those  soft,  even 
breaths  ;  once,  when  a  leaf  drifted  down  on  the  girl's 
forehead,  she  bent  over  and  flipped  it  off  with  light, 
swift  touch. 

Dorrice  moved  suddenly,  lifted  her  head,  and 
opened  her  eyes.  Out  of  their  brown  darkness,  she 
stared  at  the  stranger  sitting  there.  She  was  not 
yet  wide-awake ;  and,  startled  and  dazed,  she  had 
but  one  consciousness  —  that  the  face  bending  over 
her  had  the  look  of  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  mamma  —  mamma  !  "  she  cried  out,  and  her 
voice  was  the  cry  of  her  heart. 

It  shook .  the  woman  like  a  sudden  blow.  It 
seemed  the  voice  for  which  her  own  heart  had  gone 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  225 

hungering  for  years.  "  Oh,  my  child  —  my  child  ! " 
she  said,  in  a  moment.  The  words  were  a  pleading, 
passionate  cry. 

Then  Dorrice  sat  straight  up.  She  stared  bewil- 
dered about  her.  When  she  saw  the  green  midsum- 
mer world,  it  all  came  back  in  a  flash.  She 
remembered  how  she  had  dropped  down,  heated  and 
tired,  at  the  foot  of  the  old  birch-tree  ;  she  must  have 
fallen  asleep.  But  who  was  this  woman,  with  the 
beautiful  face,  who  sat  by  her  side,  and  looked  at  her 
with  eyes  so  like  her  own  dead  mother's? 

The  stranger  read  the  question  in  Dorrice's  face. 
"I  found  you  here  asleep,"  she  said,  "and  so  took 
upon  myself  the  charge  of  you.  If  it  was  a  liberty, 
will  you  excuse  it?" 

"I  thought  you  were  mamma,"  answered  Dorrice. 
It  was  the  one  thought  uppermost.  All  the  feeling 
of  her  childhood  had  come  back.  Her  great  eyes 
continued  to  devour  the  strange,  lovely  face. 

"  Did  your  mother  come  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mamma  is  dead !  " 

Her  voice  rang  out  sharply.  The  old  grief  was  a 
live,  palpitating  thing  at  that  moment. 

"  My  child  !  My  poor  child ! "  exclaimed  the 
stranger  again.  She  laid  her  hand  on  Dorrice's; 
she  held  the  young  palm  in  her  soft,  warm  touch. 
During  the  minutes  that  she  had  watched  the  sleeper, 
she  had  been  saying  to  herself :  "  How  I  envy  that 
girl's  mother ! " 

The  two  sat  still  and  looked  at  each  other  with 
tear-blinded  eyes.  But  it  was  Dorrice  who  recov- 
ered herself  first.  "I  must  have  been  very  sound 


226  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

asleep,"  she  said.  "  In  this  old  wood  —  in  broad 
daylight  too  !  How  very  odd  it  was  !  " 

"  It  did  not  seem  so,  my  dear,"  replied  the  lady, 
and  her  smile  reached  her  eyes  this  time.  "  It  was  a 
great  pleasure  to  sit  here  and  watch  you." 

"I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  answered 
Dorrice.  She  had  a  curious  feeling  that  she  must 
have  known  this  woman  a  long  while. 

It  was  impossible  that  the  two  should  feel  like 
strangers.  They  sat  long  in  that  cool,  dusky  aisle  of 
the  forest,  while,  a  little  way  off,  the  Peabody  danced 
and  flashed,  and  sang  the  song  of  countless  summers, 
gayly  as  though  no  solemn,  impassive  mountains 
watched  and  frowned  above  it.  The  two  told  each 
other  their  names,  and  something  of  personal  history 
naturally  followed. 

But  this  was  dwelt  upon  in  neither  case ;  and  the 
talk  ran  largely  on  the  mountain-landscapes  —  so 
familiar  to  the  woman,  so  marvellous  and  varied  a 
surprise  to  the  girl ;  and  while  they  talked,  the  eyes 
of  each  dwelt,  with  a  curious,  tender  interest,  upon 
the  other ;  and  each  seemed  to-  hear  in  the  other's 
tones  the  echo  of  a  long-silent  voice. 

The  afternoon  shadows  had  climbed  far  up  the 
gorges  and  ravines  of  the  Mount  Washington  Range 
when  the  two  came  out  of  the  forest,  on  their  way  to 
the  Glen  House. 


XXX. 

FIVE  years  before  Mrs.  Esther  Kent  met  Dorrice 
Dacres,  a  great  blow  had  fallen  into  her  life ;  her 
only  daughter  —  a  girl  of  sixteen  —  went  to  ride  one 
morning,  turning  to  throw  a  kiss,  and  shake  her 
head  archly  at  her  mother,  before  she  cantered  down 
the  road  on  her  small  black  mare.  She  seemed  at 
that  moment  an  embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  the  joy- 
ous May  morning  into  whose  sunshine  and  bursting 
green  she  rode  so  gayly.  An  hour  later,  Alice  Kent 
was  brought  home,  white,  drooping,  unconscious. 
The  gash  on  her  left  temple  was  large  and  deep. 
Like  Mercutio's,  it  served.  The  bright  lips  had 
smiled  their  last  smile.  The  little  black  mare  had 
taken  fright,  grown  unmanageable,  and  thrown  his 
young  mistress  against  the  curbstone. 

At  this  time,  Mrs.  Kent  had  been  a  widow  five 
years  ;  her  husband  had  died  suddenly,  in  the  south 
of  France,  to  which  he  had  gone  to  recruit  his  health, 
shattered  by  the  wear  and  tear  of  large  business 
responsibilities.  Their  married  life  had  been  one  of 
rare  sympathy  and  happiness.  Alice  had  much  re- 
sembled her  father  in  character  and  person. 

For  a  while  the  friends  of  the  widowed,  childless 
woman  feared  she  would  never  rally  from  this  blow. 
But  she  had  a  fine  elasticity  that  would  not,  in  the 
227 


228  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

end,  succumb  to  any  personal  grief.  Mrs.  Kent 
aroused  herself  to  find  that,  though  all  her  dearest 
loves  and  joys  had  vanished,  duty  still  remained.  She 
had  many  friends ;  she  was  capable  of  those  large, 
impersonal  interests  which  so  often  prove  the  best 
solace  and  stimulation  of  wounded  souls. 

Mrs.  Kent  had  been  left  by  her  husband  with  a 
considerable  fortune.  It  was  her  aim  to  have  this 
widen  many  straitened  lives,  and  smooth  rough 
places  for  tired  feet. 

She  had  been  at  the  Glen  House  two  days  when 
she  met  Dorrice  Dacres.  The  acquaintance,  which 
had  so  unusual  a  beginning,  grew  easily  under  favor- 
ing circumstances.  The  girl  who,  waking  from  her 
slumber,  had  called  Mrs.  Kent  by  the  name  she  had 
last  heard  from  dear,  dead  lips,  must  henceforward  be 
set  apart  from  all  other  girls  in  the  thought  and 
heart  of  the  woman.  She  fancied,  too,  that  she  de- 
tected various  resemblances,  in  subtle  lines  and 
tricks  of  expression,  between  Dorrice's  face  and  that 
of  her  own  lost  daughter's. 

Dorrice  heard  from  Mrs.  Kent's  own  lips  that  she 
was  a  widow,  living  in  a  cottage  on  one  of  the  West 
Newton  Avenues.  But  it  was  some  time  before  she 
learned,  from  one  of  the  lady's  friends,  of  the  sudden 
tragedy  that  had  left  her  childless. 

When  she  heard  this  story,  Dorrice  gained  a  new 
insight  into  Mrs.  Kent's  manner  toward  herself, 
though  they  had  been  long  acquainted  before  the 
lady  alluded  to  her  daughter.  But  there  was  some- 
thing in  tone  and  glance  which  touched  the  heart  of 
the  young  girl,  and  drew  it  to  the  beautiful,  gracious 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  229 

woman.  Nobody  had  looked  at  her  —  nobody  had 
spoken  to  her  in  just  that  way,  since  her  mother 
died. 

On  her  side,  Mrs.  Kent  would  be  sure  to  hear 
about  Carryl.  A  day  or  two  after  their  first  meeting, 
she  and  Dorrice  were  on  the  piazza,  watching,  at  sun- 
set, the  purple  shadows,  as  they  crept  slowly  up  the 
vast  flanks  of  the  Range,  and  drowned  the  chasms 
and  ravines ;  while  far  up  in  the  pale  saffron  sky  a 
lovely  rose-pink  flushed  the  peaks  and  transfigured 
all  the  hard  lines  and  barren  spaces. 

Suddenly  Dorrice  exclaimed :  "  Oh,  how  Carryl 
would  enjoy  that  delicious  color ! " 

Mrs.  Kent  did  not  speak ;  only  her  eyes  asked  who 
Carryl  was. 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Dorrice,  with  her  bright,  half 
apologetic  little  laugh.  "  I  forget !  you  do  not  know 
who  Carryl  is." 

"  I  do  not  know  even  whether  Carryl  means  he  or 
she  ! " 

"  Carryl  is  my  brother,  Mrs.  Kent ;  he  is  camping 
out  now,  with  some  of  his  class,  in  the  Adirondacks." 

"  His  class  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  I  forgot  again  !  He  is  at  Harvard ; 
he  is  a  senior  now.  We  are  each  having  our  moun- 
tain-summer. That  makes  the  best  part  of  it !" 

Mrs.  Kent  looked  at  the  great,  glad  eyes.  "  I 
see,"  she  said,  "  you  will  have  notes  to  compare,  and 
wonderful  stories  to  tell  your  people  when  you 
return  home.  What  a  grand  rivalry  there  will  be 
between  you  two  —  the  White  Mountains  and  the 
Adirondacks ! " 


230  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Dorrice's  happy  laugh  rang  out  again.  "  There  is 
really  nobody  but  each  other  to  tell ! "  she  said,  too 
used  to  the  fact  to  perceive  its  pathos.  "  Carryl  and 
I  are  all !  " 

In  ways  like  this,  bits  of  autobiography  came  out. 
Mrs.  Kent  learned  about  the  home  on  Pinckney 
Street,  and  the  small  pupils  who  came  there  each 
morning ;  and  how  it  happened  that  Dorrice  was  at 
the  Glen  House,  and  her  brother  at  the  Adirondacks 
that  summer. 

All  that  Mrs.  Kent  heard,  and  all  that  her  fine 
instincts  penetrated,  as  her  knowledge  of  Dorrice 
grew,  gave  her  a  deeper  interest  in  the  girl.  Dor- 
rice  was  so  perfectly  at  ease  with  her  new  friend 
—  talking  with  her  was  so  different  from  talking 
with  anybody  else  —  that  she  did  not  in  the  least 
suspect  what  an  insight  a  few  casual  sentences  must 
afford  to  so  interested  a  listener. 

When  the  girl  spoke  of  her  daily  living,  Mrs. 
Kent  had  a  far  clearer  perception  of  its  denials  and 
sacrifices  than  Dorrice  could  have  believed  possible. 
Yet  it  was  a  living  that  opened  into  such  large  hori- 
zons of  young  hopes,  of  high  aspirations  and  beauti- 
ful affections,  that  one  might  well  listen  with  envy 
to  the  speaker. 

The  life  that  young  orphan  boy  and  girl  had 
wrested  out  of  hard  circumstances  appeared  to  Mrs. 
Kent  a  story  of  rare  heroism.  How  many  would 
have  gone  under  in  that  struggle  with  fate !  What 
fine  temper  of  soul  it  required,  too,  to  come  out 
glad  and  sweet  from  the  long  battle  of  their  young 
years !  And  the  girl  sitting  there  had  such  inborn 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS'  231 

grace  and  fragrance,  she  was  so  fair  and  fine,  that 
it  seemed  she  must  have  been  nurtured  in  the 
softest  atmospheres  of  love  and  home  —  that  no 
harsh  winds  could  ever  have  broken  into  her  down- 
lined  nesting-place ! 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Kent  was  always  hearing  about 
Carryl.  Dorrice's  pride  and  affection  unconsciously 
cropped  out  in  her  talk.  It  was  half  amusing,  half 
pathetic,  Mrs.  Kent  sometimes  thought.  With  her 
knowledge  of  the  world,  she  secretly  questioned  the 
girl's  estimate  of  her  brother.  She  feared  lest  all 
those  splendid  qualities  existed  largely  in  his  sister's 
imagination.  "No  doubt  he  had  fine  traits,  but  this 
sort  of  devotion  would  go  far  to  make  a  selfish  scamp 
out  of  any  but  the  noblest  material." 

Dorrice's  letters  had,  of  course,  much  to  tell  her 
brother  of  her  new  friend.  "  Do  you  know  it  reads 
horribly  like  gush  ?  "  Carryl  wrote  in  reply.  "  It  is 
rather  tough  on  a  fellow  to  put  him  through  two 
pages  of  superlatives !  As  for  your  paragon,  with 
her  aureole  of  silver  hair,  it  is  all  a  matter  of  taste, 
but  I  happen,  as  a  rule,  to  prefer  glossy  locks  —  gold, 
or  brown,  or  raven,  as  the  case  may  be ! " 

sDorrice  was  so  indignant  at  this  letter  that  she 
did  not,  in  her  answer,  mention  the  lady's  name. 
When  her  resentment  had  cooled,  she  wrote  Carryl 
every  detail  of  her  first  interview  with  Mrs.  Kent. 
She  had  intended  to  keep  that  until  she  saw  him. 
When  he  learned  how  curiously  the  stranger  had  re- 
minded Dorrice  of  their  mother,  he  did  not  jest  any 
more. 

As  the  days  went  on,  the  two  were  much  together. 


232  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

In  the  beautiful  summer  weather,  in  the  wonderful 
mountain-world,  they  had  opportunities  for  constant 
informal  meetings.  Every  interview  added  to  the 
attraction  which  each  felt  for  the  other.  Mrs.  Kent 
had  known  man}'  young  girls,  and  was  fond  of  them  ; 
for  the  years  had  not  chilled  her  heart,  though  their 
snows  had  fallen  early  in  her  hair.  She  sometimes 
compared  Dorrice  to  a  new  landscape,  full  of  the 
witchery  of  wide,  leafy  woods,  and  dingle  and  copse, 
with  large,  open  stretches  where  the  rich  green  was 
flecked  with  sunshine  and  wild  bloom.  In  these 
pretty  fancies  Mrs.  Kent's  heart  and  imagination  at- 
tempted to  embody  something  of  the  effect  which 
Dorrice  produced  on  her  —  the  quaint  gravity,  the 
radiant  joyousness,  the  bright  intellect,  and  the  na- 
ture, whose  fine  issues  were  the  most  precious  quality 
of  all  to  the  woman. 

Mrs.  Kent  remained  three  weeks  at  the  Glen.  At 
the  end  of  that  time,  both  she  and  Dorrice  were 
aware  that  a  new  affection  had  entered  into  their 
lives.  The  lady  returned  to  meet  some  guests  from 
the  West,  but  she  had  set  her  heart  on  Dorrice's 
coming  to  her,  for  a  fortnight  at  least,  before  she 
went  back  to  Pinckney  Street.  Mrs.  Kent  now  took 
matters  into  her  own  hands.  She  wrote  Carryl, 
begging  him  to  give  her  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
rejoin  his  sister  under  her  own  roof. 

An  invitation  of  this  sort  would  not  have  been 
easy  to  refuse  had  it  not  come  in  the  nick  of  time. 
Carryl's  party  had  decided  to  make  a  brief  tour 
through  Canada,  after  they  broke  up  in  the  wilderness, 
and  the  fellows  would  not  hear  of  his  leaving  them. 


A   BOSTON    GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  233 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hallowell  returned  the  week  after 
Mrs.  Kent  left.  The  gentleman  had  to  start  the 
next  day  for  Boston,  but  he  left  his  wife  and  boy  be- 
hind. It  was  early  in  September.  In  one  of  its  per- 
fect mornings,  Mrs.  Hallowell  and  Dorrice,  with  a 
small  party,  ascended  Mount  Washington  on  foot, 
and  gazed,  from  the  highest  point  of  New  England, 
on  a  landscape  whose  vast  sweep  included  six  hun- 
dred miles. 

In  the  scene  that  spread  below  them,  they  found 
ample  reward  for  their  nine  miles'  climb.  The 
air  had  the  golden  clearness  of  a  September  noon- 
day. Overhead,  a  few  clouds  scattered  snowy 
fleeces  across  the  dazzling  blue.  The  travellers  fed 
their  eyes  on  foregrounds  of  savage  mountain- walls, 
on  all  the  wildness  and  grandeur  and  gloom  of 
beetling  rock  and  solemn  wilderness  and  yawning 
gorge.  Then  their  gaze  turned  to  the  distant  low- 
lands, and  caught,  amid  green,  sunny  vistas,  the  white 
gleam  of  villages,  the  blue  glint  of  distant  lakes 
and  rivers. 

At  last,  on  the  far  southeastern  horizon,  somebody 
saw,  and  in  a  moment  it  had  fascinated  all  eyes,  the 
gray,  wan  glimmer  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  day  ended  with  a  blaze  of  crimson  and  orange 
clouds  about  the  sunset,  with  the  slow  rising  of 
stars,  and  the  climbing  of  a  great  harvest  moon  up 
the  blue  avenues  of  sky. 

In  the  night  they  heard  a  menacing  cry  of  winds, 
as  though  angry  spirits  were  abroad,  seeking  those 
who  had  dared  invade  their  solitudes  and  defy  their 
wrath. 


234  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIONS. 

In  the  chill  dawn,  the  little  party  huddled  together 
and  watched  the  sun  wheel,  victorious,  over  the  hori- 
zon-line. Then  the  sea  of  cold  white  fog,  in  the  vast 
ravine  below,  shook  and  broke  into  great  masses  of 
silver,  into  plumes  and  tufts  of  sun-touched  mist, 
and  drifted  away,  and,  lo!  the  sweet  faces  of  the 
valleys  were  uncovered  to  the  rejoicing  day. 

When  the  party  drove  down  the  steep  granite 
stairway  that  leads  from  the  Arctic  solitude  and 
desolation,  they  listened,  as  one  might  returning 
from  another  planet,  for  the  old  familiar  sounds  — 
the  babbling  of  streams,  the  murmur  of  winds  in 
leaves,  and  all  the  blessed  stir  and  voices  of  the 
every-day  world. 

This  novel  experience  —  to  one  of  the  party,  at 
least  —  was  followed  by  another:  a  leisurely  tour  of 
the  mountains  in  one  of  those  weeks  of  cloudless 
skies  and  golden  atmospheres  with  which  the  New 
England  autumn  often  opens.  The  little  party, 
which  included  Mrs.  Hallowell  and  Dorrice,  and  did 
not  embrace  more  than  half  a  dozen, —  all  bright, 
agreeable  people,  —  visited  North  Conway,  and  saw 
its  beautiful  intervales  unrolled  like  a  carpet  for  the 
feet  of  approaching  gods.  They  had  a  day  at  Craw- 
ford's, with  an  afternoon  among  the  Titanic  masonry 
of  the  Willey  Notch. 

Then  they  went  on  to  Bethlehem,  and  fed  their 
gaze  on  the  finer  lines  and  softer  modelling  of  the 
Franconia  Range,  with  Mount  Lafayette  and  the 
Profile,  and  the  bewitching  scenery  of  the  Flume,  in 
the  soft,  violet  hazes  of  September,  and  at  last  they 
went  home  by  the  lovely  windings  and  intervales  of 
the  Pemigewasset  valley. 


XXXI. 

THERE  are  houses  which  seem  to  acquire,  by  the 
long  process  of  years,  something  of  the  character  of 
the  people  who  inhabit  them.  There  was  one  which 
stood  on  a  slight  elevation  in  West  Newton  that  had 
a  homelike  air,  which  many  of  its  smarter  neighbors 
missed. 

It  was  a  broad,  low,  gray  cottage,  its  sky-line 
broken  with  dormers  and  gables.  Beneath  were 
bay-windows  and  piazzas.  In  front,  was  a  graceful 
sweep  of  lawn,  with  clumps  of  shrubbery  and  beds 
of  flowers,  that  made  patches  of  gorgeous  color 
against  the  varied  greens. 

The  interior  of  this  cottage  had  an  exquisite  har- 
mony with  its  surroundings.  Everything  here  was 
simple  and  tasteful.  Yet  the  subtle  charm  of  the 
interior  did  not  consist  chiefly  in  its  adornings. 
You  had  a  feeling,  when  once  you  crossed  the 
threshold,  that  you  were  in  the  heart  of  a  home. 
Books  scattered  about,  some  rare  paintings  on  the 
walls,  the  grace  and  harmonies  of  arrangement,  could 
not  wholly  account  for  that  indescribably  restful, 
homelike  atmosphere  which  pervaded  these  rooms. 

If  you  had  known  Mrs.  Esther  Kent,  you  must 
have  felt  that  the  home  fitted  its  mistress  —  that  it 
was  curiously  expressive  of  herself. 

235 


236  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

In  this  cottage,  on  her  return  from  the  mountains, 
Dorrice  Dacres  spent  three  delightful  weeks. 

She  was  not  conscious  until  she  came  here,  dropping 
as  a  bird  drops  at  night  into  its  soft,  tree-sheltered 
nest,  how  heart  and  soul  and  nerves  craved  this  home 
atmosphere,  with  its  freedom  from  all  responsibility, 
its  long  leisures,  its  ineffable  peace.  Her  young  life 
had  been  for  years  pitched  on  a  high  key.  With 
the  standards  she  had  set  for  herself,  it  was  inevitable 
there  should  be  a  long  strain  on  body  and  soul. 
Admirably  as  these  had,  thus  far,  responded  to  her 
demands,  there  were  perils  for  the  nerves  set  to  such 
high  tasks.  It  was  impossible  that  a  young  girl, 
alive  and  healthful  in  every  fibre,  should  be  con- 
scious of  any  dangers  of  reaction,  when  she  taxed 
herself  so  heavily.  Even  had  Dorrice  perceived 
these,  she  would  have  insisted  they  must  be  risked. 
There  would  be  time  to  talk  of  rest  when  Carryl 
was  through  Harvard. 

The  summer  had,  as  we  know,  brought  delightful 
changes  of  scene,  and  recreation.  But  it  had  been 
crowded  with  pleasures  and  excitements,  and  it  was 
doubly  fortunate  for  Dorrice  that  she  could  have 
this  restful  interlude  of  home-life  before  she  resumed 
that  of  Pinckney  Street. 

From  the  hour  of  her  first  coming  to  West  New- 
ton, it  had  not  been  at  all  like  visiting.  She 
wondered  at  this,  as  she  moved  about  her  own  large, 
cool,  prettily  furnished  chamber,  with  its  great  dor- 
mer-window, which  looked  .into  the  gnarled,  sun- 
flecked  branches  of  an  ancient  pear-tree.  She  moved 
about  the  halls  and  staircases,  and  among  the  cosey 


A  BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  237 

nooks  and  corners,  with  such  a  curious  sense  of 
freedom  and  happiness  that  it  amazed  herself. 

"  Everything  seems  so  strangely  natural  and  fam- 
iliar, as  though  I  must  have  known  it  all  my  life," 
she  occasionally  said  to  her  hostess,  with  a  bright 
gravity  in  her  face. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  it  seemed  otherwise,"  Mrs. 
Kent  would  reply,  looking  at  the  girl  with  pleased 
eyes. 

Dorrice  imagined  that  the  balance  of  happiness  in 
this  visit  was  immensely  in  her  favor,  but  she  could 
not  understand  how  much  she  conferred. 

It  seemed  to  her  hostess  as  though  these  days 
belonged  to  another  time  —  as  though  a  presence  had 
come  back  to  fill  the  rooms  once  more  with  its 
young,  joyous  life. 

Mrs.  Kent  saw  a  likeness  —  not  so  clear  to  other 
people  —  between  Dorrice  and  a  portrait  which  hung 
in  her  own  chamber.  It  was  that  of  a  young  girl 
with  a  face  of  wonderful  sweetness,  and  masses  of 
yellow-brown  hair,  and  eyes  of  intense,  smiling  blue. 

At  the  close  of  Dorrice's  three  weeks,  Carryl  came 
to  the  cottage  at  West  Newton.  He  returned  in 
superb  health  and  spirits,  sunburnt  and  muscular, 
and  bringing  down  from  the  wilderness  the  strong 
heart  and  high  courage  that  made  him  feel  equal  to 
any  tussle  with  fate. 

Mrs.  Kent  had  looked  forward  with  some  anxiety 
to  the  young  man's  advent.  She  had  long  seen  that 
Dorrice  regarded  him  as  everything  that  was  honor- 
able, high-souled,  generous.  In  spite  of  all  this,  she 
held  her  judgment  in  reserve. 


238  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

But  when  she  saw  the  eager,  frank,  handsome  face, 
when  she  listened  to  the  talk  of  the  bright,  manly 
youth,  and  perceived,  as,  in  a  thousand  little  ways,  it 
showed  itself,  a  lack  of  self-conceit,  which  his  sister's 
devotion  and  his  recent  successes  at  college  might 
have  excused,  Mrs.  Kent  began  to  feel  that  the 
youth  was,  on  the  whole,  much  what  Dorrice  believed 
him. 

"  Not  all,  of  course !  That,  with  young  human 
nature,  would  perhaps  be  impossible.  But  he  is  a 
splendid  fellow  ;  I  am  so  glad  for  her  sake  ! "  Mrs. 
Kent  said  to  herself,  after  her  first  long  interview 
with  the  young  man. 

On  Carryl's  part,  his  sister's  reports,  and  his  own 
correspondence  with  Mrs.  Kent,  had  given  him  very 
agreeable  impressions  of  that  lady.  But  he  felt  it 
due  to  his  masculine  poise  and  coolness,  not  to  be 
carried  off  his  feet.  As  he  put  it  to  himself,  "  Of 
course,  it  is  different  with  a  girl." 

But  before  the  second  day  was  over,  Carry  1  had 

«/  »/ 

said  to  his  sister:  "You  were  right,  Dorrice!  There 
is  something  about  Mrs.  Kent's  look  or  manner 
which,  at  times,  reminds  me  of  our  mother." 

When  he  said  that,  Dorrice  was  satisfied.  Of 
course,  Carryl's  appearance  was  the  signal  for  the 
return  to  Pinckney  Street.  Mrs.  Kent  was  very 
solicitous  that  her  young  friends  should  prolong 
their  visit,  but  circumstances  at  this  time  were  too 
strong  for  her.  She  only  succeeded  in  detaining 
them  for  a  few  days. 

The  last  evening  they  were  at  the  cottage,  Carryl 
said  to  his  sister,  in  that  half  serious,  half  bantering 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  239 

tone  which  was  so  much  the  habit  of  their  talk, 
"  You  must  make  up  your  mind,  Dorrice,  that  you 
will  have  an  insufferable  fellow  to  manage,  when  we 
are  once  more  under  our  own  vine  and  fig-tree !  It 
will  take  a  year  of  Harvard  drudgery  to  smooth 
down  the  original  savage  that  has  come  to  life  with 
six  weeks  of  the  Adirondack  wilderness!" 

"  I  have  not  the  least  fear  of  the  '  original 
savage,'  "  rejoined  Dorrice,  with  a  defiant  shake  of 
her  head.  "But  I  tremble  for  the  time  when  you 
come  to  realize  you  are  a  full-fledged  senior,  and  take 
on  the  proper  airs !  If  you  mount  your  high  horse 
too  often,  I  have  an  arrow  in  reserve." 

"  That  ambiguous  threat  is  well  calculated  to  make 
a  fellow  pause  and  quake  !  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  Mrs.  Kent.  If  you  get  too  unbearable, 
I  shall  run  away  to  her  for  support  and  advice." 

She  had  been  listening1,  amused,  to  the  playful 
talk.  It  seemed  to  the  widowed,  childless  woman 
that  her  home  would  be  conscious  of  some  loss  and 
loneliness  when  this  bright  young  manhood  and 
maidenhood  went  out  of  it. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wiser  to  save  yourself  all  trouble 
by  not  going  at  all  ?  "  she  now  answered  Dorrice, 
half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest. 

The  girl  did  not  dream  there  could  be  anything 
serious  at  the  bottom  of  this  question.  "  You  hear 
what  Mrs.  Kent  says,  Carryl ! "  turning  to  him  with 
an  air  of  triumph. 

"  I  hear  and  am  vanquished !  A  fellow's  only 
safety  now  will  be  in  carrying  himself  as  though  the 
sword  of  Damocles  always  hung  over  his  head  !  " 


240  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

The  talk  went  on  for  some  time.  Mrs.  Kent  was 
pleased  to  see  the  young  people  so  unconsciously  free 
and  joyous  under  her  roof  —  in  her  presence.  But 
all  the  time  there  was  a  serious  under-current  in  her 
thoughts.  She  was  pondering  some  important  matter, 
weighing  the  balances  carefully.  Once,  in  a  pause  of 
the  gay  banter,  she  opened  her  lips  to  speak.  Then 
she  checked  herself,  with  a  slight,  decided  movement 
of  her  head.  "No!"  she  said  to  herself,  "it  would 
be  hasty — ill  judged  —  to  propose  that  now.  Per- 
haps the  time  will  come ;  I  must  wait." 

The  next  day  the  young  people  returned  to  Pinck- 
ney  Street. 


XXXII. 

DORRICE'S  prophecy  came  true.  Carryl's  senior 
year  proved  able  to  stand  on  its  own  feet.  Indeed, 
it  was  financially  easier  than  the  two  which  preceded 
it.  Carryl  had  formed  acquaintances  at  Harvard 
who  proved  of  service  to  him  :  he  had  some  coaching 
to  do,  which  paid  handsomely.  Dorrice's  work  in 
water-colors  furnished  occasional  tributaries  to  their 
main  resources.  Altogether,  it  was  a  busy,  hopeful, 
happy  time. 

A  new  interest  and  pleasure  had  entered  into  it. 
There  was  a  constant  interchange  of  visits  between 
West  Newton  and  Pinckney  Street.  The  home  in 
those  upper  rooms  had  a  charm  for  Mrs.  Kent.  As 
she  sat  amid  the  pretty  furnishings,  she  wondered  at 
the  taste  which  had  achieved  all  these  results  — 
with  such  limitations,  tool" 

It  came  soon  to  be  an  understood  matter  that 
Dorrice  should  give  Mrs.  Kent  an  afternoon  each 
week,  and  that  Carryl  should  join  her  at  evening 
and  bring  her  home. 

Mrs.  Kent  often  pondered  how  she  could  be  of 
service  to  her  young  friends.  It  was  a  problem  that 
required  delicate  handling.  She  did  find  many  ways 
of  brightening  their  lives ;  but  their  fine  reserves, 
their  spirit  of  high  independence,  always  warned  her 

241 


242  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

to  move  warily  in  these  matters.  After  all,  she  was 
in  herself,  and  in  what  she  could  be  to  Carryl  and 
Dorrice  Dacres,  the  most  precious  gift  she  could 
have  brought  them. 

Before  that  winter  was  over,  Mrs.  Kent  gained  a 
fresh  insight  into  the  young  people's  history.  She 
met  Mrs.  Hallowell  one  da}r  on  Pinckney  Street,  and 
afterward  the  ladies  exchanged  calls.  The  younger 
one  related  the  circumstances  of  her  first  acquaint- 
ance with  Carryl  Dacres ;  as  well  as  the  events 
which  had  led  to  his  entering  Harvard,  and  the  part 
which  Dorrice  had  borne  in  that  matter. 

There  was  no  reason,  Mrs.  Hallowell  told  herself, 
why  she  should  not  confide  this  to  one  who  took  so 
warm  an  interest  in  all  that  concerned  the  young 
people. 

The  story  could  not  fail  to  impress  Mrs.  Kent.  "  It 
had  a  heroic  quality,"  she  thought, —  "  that  high  cour- 
age of  both  —  that  fine  devotion  of  one  !  " 

But  Mrs.  Hallowell 's  knowledge  of  her  young 
friends'  past  —  however  intimate  she  might  believe 
it — still  left  her  in  complete  ignorance  of  their 
hardest  straits,  their  darkest  hours. 

Carryl,  on  occasion,  brought  some  of  his  classmates 
to  introduce  to  his  sister,  and  two  or  three  favored 
ones  enjoyed  occasionally  a  simple  little  banquet  on 
Pinckney  Street,  where  the  young  hostess  did  her 
part  with  graceful  ease  that  would  have  left  nothing 
wanting  amid  statelier  surroundings. 

So  there  was  more  or  less  talk  among  the  fellows 
of  Dacres'  lovely  sister.  Some  of  them  got  to  be, 
as  the  college  slang  went,  "spooney"  over  her. 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  243 

They  sent  her  bouquets  —  learned  the  places  which 
were  favorite  walks  with  her  and  Carryl,  and  hung 
about  certain  streets  for  a  chance  of  meeting  the  pair. 
They  drank  her  health  at  their  parties  and  suppers, 
and  declared  Dacres  was  a  horrid  old  ogre  to  keep 
his  rare  bird  shut  up  as  he  did,  in  her  high  cage. 
All  of  which  Carryl  duly  reported  to  his  sister,  who 
listened  and  laughed  at  the  nonsense,  and  flushed  at 
the  praises,  and  enjoyed  them  as  a  girl  would.  But 
they  did  not  go  so  deep  as  that  old  talk  at  Class  Day. 
At  twenty-one,  Dorrice  tried  to  believe  she  had  out- 
grown vanities  of  that  sort. 

This  year,  also,  brought  with  it  opportunities  for 
an  enlarged  social  life.  Of  these,  however,  more 
pressing  interests  allowed  the  young  people  to  avail 
themselves  only  in  a  very  limited  degree.  The 
party  with  whom  Dorrice  had  made  the  tour  of  the 
White  Mountains  could  not  forget  the  young  girl 
who  had  added  so  much  to  the  pleasure  of  their  trip. 
They  hunted  her  up.  They  showed  her  graceful 
attentions,  and  sent  her  invitations  of  various  kinds, 
which,  on  rare  occasions,  she  and  Carryl  found  time 
to  accept. 


XXXIII. 

ONE  morning  in  early  May,  Dorrice  Dacres  was 
leaving  a  woman's  ward  of  the  Massachusetts  Gen- 
eral Hospital.  She  had  been  here  on  a  visit  to  one  of 
the  inmates — a  servant  of  Mrs.  Kent's,  that  lady 
being  absent  from  home  a  few  days. 

As  the  girl  passed  rapidly  along  the  ward,  she  un- 
consciously glanced  toward  a  bed  on  her  right.  A 
woman's  face  was  lying  on  the  pillow,  a  drawn, 
wasted  face,  ashen  with  the  shadow  of  the  coming 
death. 

About  this  face  was  a  mass  of  dark  hair,  into 
which  the  gray  had  crept  thickly.  But  the  eyes 
were  the  dominant  feature  —  large,  bright,  hollow, 
with  a  dreadful  pathos  in  them  —  which  might  mean 
weariness,  or  remorse,  or  despair,  or  all  of  these. 

Yet,  despite  all  the  waste  and  ghastliness,  a  strik- 
ing face  lay  on  the  hospital  pillow.  It  must  have 
had  a  powerful  attractiveness  when  life  and  bloom 
gave  their  charm  to  the  clear-cut  features. 

When  the  woman  caught  sight  of  Dorrice,  a  swift 
change  came  over  her.  She  raised  her  head  from  the 
pillow;  a  wild,  scared  look  shot  into  her  eyes;  a 
low,  repressed  cry  of  recognition,  amazement,  horror, 
broke  from  her  lips. 

244 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  245 

At  that  cry,  Dorrice  caught  her  breath,  and  stood 
still.  She  saw  the  wild,  burning  eyes  staring  at  her 
out  of  the  sharp,  livid  face  —  the  white  lips  trembling 
—  the  thin  fingers  clutching  at  the  bed-clothes;  then 
she  heard  the  low,  scared  cry  that  followed :  "  Oh, 
Grace  Dacres  —  Grace  Dacres  —  don't !  don't ! " 

She  waved  her  hands  in  the  air  with  a  piteous, 
imploring  gesture  ;  her  whole  frame  cowered  and 
trembled. 

At  those  words,  Dorrice  grew  white.  There  was 
no  sound  for  a  moment  or  two.  The  woman  on  the 
bed  and  the  girl  stared  at  each  other. 

One  of  the  nurses  caught  the  cry ;  she  hurried  to 
the  patient. 

The  blue-veined,  shadowy  hands  waved  once  more 
in  the  air,  in  that  terrified,  appealing  way.  "  I  know 
her  ! "  muttered  the  woman  in  her  low,  scared  voice. 
"  It  is  Grace  Dacres  stands  there  !  She  has  been  fol- 
lowing me  ever  since  that  day !  I  knew  she  would 
come  at  the  last  —  come  with  those  eyes  as  they 
looked  at  me  after  I  had  said  the  words  and  sworn 
the  oath ! " 

The  nurse  attempted  to  soothe  the  woman.  "  She 
must  think  you  are  somebody  else,"  she  said  to  Dor- 
rice,  in  an  undertone.  "  Don't  let  her  see  you." 

But  Dorrice  did  not  move.  She  was  shaking  in 
every  limb.  Not  a  syllable  of  that  low,  scared  mut- 
ter had  escaped  her. 

At  that  instant  the  doctor  entered  the  ward.  He 
was  a  pleasant-faced,  dark-haired,  middle-aged  man. 
He  had  the  brisk,  prompt  air  of  one  who  is  used  to 
facing  emergencies  and  mastering  them. 


246  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

His  rapid  glance  took  in  the  figures  at  the  bed- 
side. He  saw  in  a  moment  that  something  unusual 
had  happened.  By  this  time  the  attention  of  the 
patients  in  the  vicinity  was  aroused.  Nothing  had, 
thus  far,  happened  to  agitate  them  —  the  woman, 
through  all  her  excitement,  had  spoken  in  a  low 
voice  —  even  her  gestures  had  a  repressed  air,  as 
though  this  had  become  a  habit  with  her. 

The  nurse  explained  the  situation  —  so  far  as  she 
understood  it  —  in  a  few  words. 

The  doctor  gave  his  first  attention  to  the  sick 
woman  ;  her  head  had  fallen  back.  There  was  a 
wild  glitter  in  her  eyes.  She  muttered  to  herself  in 
a  low,  incoherent  way. 

The  doctor  felt  her  pulse ;  said  something  to  her 
which  had  a  soothing  effect ;  then  he  turned  to 
Dorrice,  who  still  stood,  motionless  as  a  statue, 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  "You  will  have  to  leave 
her  at  once,"  he  said  in  a  kindly,  but  decided 
voice. 

Then  Dorrice  spoke.-  Her  words  were  a  cry  out 
of  her  heart.  "But  she  thought  I  was  mamma! 
She  spoke  her  name  ;  she  must  have  known  her !  " 

The  voice  was  one  which  no  man  could  fail  to 
heed.  "  I  will  see  you  in  a  few  moments,"  the  doctor 
added.  Then  he  made  a  sign  to  the  nurse  to  lead  the 
young  lady  away. 

Dorrice  could  never  tell  how  long  she  waited  in 
the  office.  It  was  probably  but  a  few  minutes,  though 
it  seemed  hours  to  her.  For  once  she  did  not  know 
that  outside  the  May  sun  was  shining  ;  she  did  not 
heed  that  all  the  northern  land  was  glad  in  the  fresh 


A  BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  247 

young  green  with  which  it  was  robing  itself  to  meet 
the  summer. 

At  last  the  doctor  came ;  he  looked  at  Dorrice 
with  his  keen,  penetrating  eyes,  that  grew  kindly  as 
he  gazed.  "  You  knew  this  woman  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Never  !  But  she  called  me  Grace  Dacres.  That 
was  my  mother's  name.  They  say  I  am  like  her. 
There  is  some  mystery — some  wrong  to  clear  up! 
You  will  allow  me  to  see  her  again  ?  " 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  talk  that  lasted  ten 
minutes  —  perhaps.  The  doctor  was  all  sympathetic 
attention.  The  more  he  saw  of  Dorrice,  the  more  he 
was  inclined  to  render  her  any  service  in  his  power. 

The  patient,  he  said,  was  fast  approaching  her 
end.  Her  mind  had  wandered,  more  or  less,  during 
the  last  days.  It  was  possible  there  would  be  a 
lucid  interval  before  the  end  came ;  but,  seeing  the 
flash  of  joy  in  Dorrice's  eyes  at  those  words,  he 
warned  her  not  to  trust  too  much  to  that. 

The  woman's  name  was  Madeline  Reeves.  She 
had  been  brought  to  the  hospital  a  month  ago.  She 
was  a  widow,  she  stated,  and  had  no  relatives  in 
Boston.  She  was  dying  of  consumption,  though  the 
doctor  had  perceived  that  her  disease  was  aggravated 
by  some  mental  trouble  and  remorse. 

She  was  quiet,  now,  partly  from  exhaustion,  partly 
from  the  effect  of  a  narcotic.  He  would  not  be  sur- 
prised if  she  did  not  survive  another  day. 

The  doctor's  clear  statements,  his  kindly  manner, 
and  his  evident  control  of  the  situation,  all  tended 
to  calm  Dorrice. 

He  agreed  that  the  woman  should  be  removed  to 


248  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

another  room,  so  that  the  interview  —  if  one  could 
be  had  —  should  take  place  in  strict  privacy. 

Dorrice  gave  him  her  address.  He  assured  her 
that  every  care  should  be  taken  of  the  sick  woman, 
and  that  he  would  send  a  message  as  soon  as  there 
were  signs  of  returning  strength  and  reason. 

An  hour  later,  the  girl  sat  in  her  own  room  wait- 
ing, with  strained  ears,  for  Carryl's  return. 

He  came  at  last,  mounting  the  stairs  —  two  or 
three  at  a  time  —  and  humming  one  of  his  gay  col- 
lege songs. 

When  she  turned  her  face  toward  him,  he  stopped 
short,  then  he  cried  out  sharply :  "  What  has  hap- 
pened, Dorrice  ?  " 

She  told  him. 

There  was  a  day  far  back  in  Carryl  Dacres'  boy- 
hood —  so  far  back  that  his  sister  —  two  years  his 
junior  —  could  not  recall  it,  but  which  had  burned 
itself  into  his  memory. 

They  had  not  alluded  to  it  for  years.  Indeed, 
Dorrice  had  only  a  vague,  confused  idea  of  the  whole 
matter.  Carryl  could  not  bring  himself  to  speak  of 
that  painful  memory  —  in  the  first  place,  because 
Dorrice  was  too  young  to  comprehend  it,  and  could 
only  be  bewildered  and  saddened  by  the  mystery  ; 
and,  later,  because  he  had  felt  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  for  the  past,  and  something  of  courage  and 
strength  must  be  wasted  for  the  present,  by  dwelling 
on  the  scene  that  stood  in  such  strong  relief  in  the 
background  of  his  memory. 

But  none  the  less,  it  had  always  been  his  secret 
conviction  that  on  this  far-off  day,  some  mysterious 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  249 

blow  had  been  dealt  his  mother  —  a  blow  that  had 
shaped  and  saddened  all  her  future,  and  her  chil- 
dren's—  that  it  had  broken  her  heart,  and  was  the 
cause  of  her  death. 

As  he  listened  to  Dorrice's  strange  tale,  that  dis- 
tant time  rose  vividly  to  Carry!,  and  persistently 
associated  itself  with  the  woman  who  lay  dying  in 
the  hospital,  and  who  had  ca!led  his  sister  by  her 
mother's  name. 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  Dorrice  heard  the 
whole  story. 

It  all  happened  before  they  went  to  live  at  Fox- 
low,  when  Carryl  was  past  five,  and  Dorrice  three. 
At  that  time,  their  father  had  been  dead  more  than 
a  year. 

The  two  were  having  a  merry  time  around  their 
mother,  when  a  message  was  brought  that  a  gentle- 
man and  lady  were  waiting  in  the  parlor. 

Carryl  could  see  his  mother  now,  as  she  turned  at 
the  door  with  a  little  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  warn- 
ing shake  of  the  head,  at  their  loud  mirth,  before 
she  passed  from  the  room. 

She  was  gone  a  long  while  —  so  long,  Carryl  re- 
membered, that  they  grew  tired  of  the  fun,  and  Dor- 
rice  was  cross,  and  at  last  fell  asleep,  while  he  buried 
himself  in  a  picture-book. 

But  the  woman  who  went  out  of  that  room  with 
the  warning  shake  of  her  head,  and  the  tender  smile 
on  her  lips,  never  came  back  again.  It  was  a 
woman  with  a  face  white  as  the  dead,  and  with 
wild,  hunted  eyes,  who  crept  back  at  last,  in  a  blind, 
groping  way. 


250  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

She  did  not  see  Carryl ;  she  did  not  appear  to 
know  where  she  was. 

"Oh,  mamma!"  he  cried  out,  with  the  swift,  sure 
instinct  of  childhood,  "  what  have  they  been  doing 
to  you  ?  " 

She  started  and  stared  at  him ;  she  lifted  her 
finger.  "Hush!  hush!"  she  said,  in  a  frightened 
whisper.  "  Nobody  must  hear  you ;  nobody  must 
know,  and  tell." 

She  said  this,  at  times,  for  days  that  followed  ; 
and  she  would  look  at  him  and  Dorrice  in  a  way  that 
made  the  young  boy  shut  his  eyes ;  sometimes  she 
would  be  lost  in  thoughts  and  memories  that  kept 
her  for  hours  unconscious  of  their  presence. 

At  night,  too,  the  boy  would  hear  her  walking  the 
next  room,  talking  and  moaning  to  herself;  and 
often  he  would  hear  her  cry  out  in  a  voice  he  did 
not  know,  it  was  so  sharp  with  its  passion  of  grief 
and  agony :  " Oh,  John !  John !  " 

One  day  the  boy's  instinct  served  him  better  than 
the  wisdom  of  years.  Dorrice  was  clinging  to  her 
mother,  who  did  not  notice  her.  The  child  felt  the 
changed  atmosphere,  though  she  was  too  young  to 
reason  about  it. 

Carryl  went  over  to  the  two ;  he  put  his  arm  about 
his  sister.  "  Mamma,  you  have  got  me  and  Dorrice," 
he  said. 

He  remembered  that  a  year  ago  —  that  seemed 
ages  at  five  — his  mother  said  those  words,  not  long 
after  the  tidings  came  that  their  father  had  been 
killed  in  the  war. 

He  was  not  able    to   recall   much  of   that  time, 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  251 

though  he  had  a  vague  sense  of  some  awful  shock 
and  grief. 

The  words  in  that  childish  voice  went  to  the  moth- 
er's heart.  She  started,  and  gazed  a  minute  or  two 
in  silence  on  her  children.  Through  all  the  pain  in 
her  eyes,  the  boy  was  conscious  of  something  else. 
His  mother,  his  beautiful  young  mother,  seemed  to 
be  asking  pardon  of  her  children,  as  though  some 
wrong  or  shame,  for  which  she  held  herself  accounta- 
ble, had  come  to  them. 

But  now  a  softer  look  stole  into  her  eyes.  She 
drew  the  boy  and  girl  to  her  heart.  "  Oh,  God," 
she  said,  "  I  must  not  die  ;  I  must  not  go  mad ;  I 
must  live  for  them  !  " 

But  afterwards  she  never,  if  she  could  help  it, 
named  their  father's  name  to  his  children. 

She  had  always  been  so  proud  of  him — forever 
telling  them  stories  about  him.  Carryl  knew  that 
she  thought  him  the  tenderest,  noblest,  the  supreme 
man  in  the  world. 

Carryl  was  a  serious,  keenly  observant  boy.  He 
noticed  the  change. 

One  day  —  that  was  after  he  had  grown  older,  and 
they  had  lived  at  Foxlow  a  long  time  —  Carryl  spoke 
his  father's  name.  His  mother  made  no  reply.  He 
came  to  her,  and,  looking  in  her  face,  said,  "  Mamma, 
papa  was  a  good  man,  wasn't  he  ?  " 

She  drew  a  long  breath.  There  was  a  flash  of  pain 
and  shame  in  her  eyes ;  her  white  lips  trembled,  but 
they  did  not  utter  a  word. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  a  moment.  The 
mother  could  not  answer  her  son.  Carryl  turned 


252  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

away.  Boy  as  he  was,  the  iron  had  entered  his 
soul. 

But  from  that  time  there  was  a  change  in  him. 
He  was  more  manly,  he  was  tenderer  toward  his 
mother  and  young  sister. 

There  was  another  scene  which  had  burned  itself 
into  Carryl  Dacres'  memory.  It  was  the  day  his 
mother  died.  They  had  been  living  in  Foxlow  ten 
years  when  that  happened.  Her  health  had  been 
gradually  failing  for  a  long  time ;  but  nobody 
dreamed  —  least  of  all,  her  children  —  that  she 
would  not  rally. 

Carryl  had  been  sitting  by  her  side  while  she  slept. 
Her  eyes  suddenly  opened.  What  a  strange,  solemn 
gladness  shone  in  them  !  What  a  light  and  joy  illu- 
minated the  sweet,  white  face!  "Carryl,"  she  said, 
and  the  low,  exultant  tones  thrilled  his  soul,  "  your 
father  was  a  good  man  —  remember  always  that  I 
said  that.  Oh,  thank  God,  he  was  a  good  man  !  It 
was  all  a  lie  !  " 

"  What  was  a  lie,  mamma  ?  "     He  bent  over  her. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  now ;  I'm  very  tired,"  she  an- 
swered, in  a  weary  voice,  but  one  of  perfect  content. 
"  When  I  am  rested,  you  shall  know  all  about  it ; 
only  you  and  Dorrice  need  not  be  afraid  —  ashamed 
—  do  you  hear  that,  dear?  Your  father  was  a  good 
man  —  the  best  man  in  all  the  world!"  and  she 
smiled  on  him  a  smile  of  ineffable  happiness,  and 
stroked  his  black  locks  with  her  thin  ringers. 

"  But  what  has  happened  ?  How  do  you  know  ?  " 
His  intense  craving  for  the  truth  forced  out  the  ques- 
tions. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  253 

"It  was  like  a  dream,"  murmured  the  fain.,  voice, 
thrilled  with  joy ;  "  yet  it  was  not  one.  We  were 
together  again.  '  Grace,'  he  said,  in  his  old,  tender 
voice,  '  you  should  have  had  faith  in  me.  It  was  all 
»&/-' 

"And  when  he  spoke,  and  looked  at  me  with  the 
old,  brave  love  in  his  eyes,  I  knew  it  was  just  as  he 
said,  and  I  cried  out,  '  Oh,  John,  can  you  forgive  me?' 

"He  smiled  on  me  then.  There  was  such  an  un- 
utterable pity  in  his  eyes,  as  though  he  knew  all  I 
had  suffered,  and  there  was  to  be  no  talk  of  forgive- 
ness between  us.  Then  I  awoke.  But  I  am  tired 
now  "  —  her  voice  gradually  sank  ;  "  I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it,  dear,  when  I  am  stronger.  Thank  God, 
your  father  was  a  good  man  !  " 

Her  head  drooped  on  the  pillow.  Carryl  sat  a  long 
time  by  the  bedside,  going  over  all  she  had  told  him. 
At  last  somebody  came  in.  But  he  never  heard  his 
mother's  voice  again.  The  sudden  joy,  after  the  long 
grief,  had  killed  her. 

The  brother  and  sister  sat  together  all  that  May 
day,  the  present  swallowed  up  in  the  past.  Dorrice 
heard  much  from  Carryl  that  she  had  never  known 
before. 

And  as  they  talked,  or  sat  silent,  looking  at  each 
other  with  strange,  awed  faces,  one  question  was 
still  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  both.  Did  that 
woman,  dying  in  the  hospital  a  little  way  off,  know 
the  secret  of  the  wrong  and  mystery  which  had  shad- 
owed their  childhood  and  killed  their  mother  ?  Was 
she  concerned  in  it  all  ? 


254  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

She  herself  could  alone  answer,  and  she  might  die 
without  speaking. 

Dorrice  was  dreadfully  shaken  by  all  she  had  seen 
and  learned  that  day.  Through  the  night  she  and 
Carryl  had  only  fitful,  broken  slumbers.  Before  ten 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  while  they  waited,  a  mes- 
sage arrived  from  the  doctor,  "  Come  at  once." 


XXXIV. 

THE  doctor  met  the  young  people.  He  was  pre- 
pared to  see  Carryl,  as  Dorrice  had  spoken  of  him  in 
their  interview.  The  sick  woman  had  roused  from 
her  long  stupor,  with  faculties  clear  and  alert,  but 
she  was  rapidly  sinking. 

She  remembered  what  had  happened  the  preceding 
day,  and  had  asked  questions,  and  listened  greedily 
to  explanations,  and  insisted  that  she  could  not  die 
without  seeing  the  young  people. 

They  were  shown,  without  delay,  to  the  private 
room  to  which  she  had  been  removed.  Before  they 
entered,  the  doctor  warned  them  that  any  fresh  ex- 
citement might  prove  fatal  to  the  patient,  and  so 
prevent  her  ever  getting  through  with  any  revelation 
she  might  wish  to  make. 

They  found  Mrs.  Reeves  carefully  pillowed  up  in 
bed,  with  the  May  sunshine  making  a  pleasant 
warmth  and  brightness  all  about  her.  But  it  seemed 
as  though  every  breath  that  panted  out  of  the  thin, 
drawn  lips  might  be  her  last,  and  the  gray  ghastli- 
ness  had  deepened  on  her  face. 

The  doctor  and  the  nurse  went  out,  and  left  the 
three  together. 

The  great  dark  eyes  rested  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence  on  Carryl  Dacres.  The  sick  woman  was  too 

255 


256  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

far  exhausted  for  much  emotion.  "You  are  John 
Dacres'  son,"  she  said  at  last.  "  You  are  much  like 
your  father." 

"  You  knew  him,  then?  "  asked  Carryl.  His  heart 
was  full  of  a  great  pity  for  the  woman  lying  there. 
He  had  never  come  so  near  death  before,  except  when 
his  mother  died,  and  that  was  all  so  different. 

A  look  of  swift  pain  came  into  the  hazel-gray  eyes, 
which  seemed  to  hold  all  the  life  of  the  livid  face. 
u  Yes,  I  knew  him,"  said  the  hollow  tones,  "  to  his 
sorrow  —  to  your  mother's  !  " 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Then  the  woman 
motioned  faintly  to  the  chairs.  "Sit  down,"  she 
said ;  "  I  must  tell  you  quickly,  or  it  may  be  too 
late." 

The  two  sat  down  without  a  word.  For  the  next 
hour  Mrs.  Reeves  did  all  the  talking.  Sometimes 
her  voice  was  clear  through  its  hollowness,  sometimes 
it  came  in  gasps  and  pants ;  but  she  kept  on  stead- 
ily, evidently  in  fear  lest  her  strength  should  fail  her 
at  any  moment,  and  she  should  never  be  able  to 
complete  her  story. 

And  the  two  listened,  not  losing  a  syllable,  while 
their  faces  grew  white  almost  as  the  dying  woman's. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  repeat  Madeline  Reeves' 
story  in  her  own  words.  Even  Carryl  and  Dorrice 
Dacres  never  attempted  that. 

She  first  met  John  Dacres  in  California.  He  had 
been  there  at  that  time  less  than  a  year.  She  was 
out  on  a  visit  to  her  cousins,  —  a  gay,  handsome, 
dashing  Eastern  girl,  a  good  deal  of  a  belle  in  her 
native  town,  while  the  adulation  she  received  in 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  257 

California  was  well  calculated  to  stimulate  all  her 
vanity. 

Her  lovers  insisted,  too,  that  there  was  a  bright, 
piquant  charm  in  the  girl's  talk  and  manner,  which 
vastly  enhanced  her  attractions  in  their  eyes. 

John  Dacres  was  a  handsome  young  fellow,  about 
twenty-seven.  When  she  compared  her  other  admir- 
ers with  him,  they  seemed  smaller  and  coarser.  Her 
woman's  instinct  perceived  that  his  slightest  mark  of 
regard  meant  more  than  the  most  fervid  vows  of  the 
men  in  her  train.  He  had  a  tender  reverence  for 
woman,  a  chivalric  regard  for  her,  which  Madeline 
Reeves  had  never  met  before,  and  which,  while  it 
sometimes  amused  her,  interested  and  touched  the 
best  side  of  her  nature. 

Not  that  she  was  really  in  love  with  young  Dacres. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  her  to  be, 
at  that  time,  with  any  man. 

An  atmosphere  of  flattery  and  admiration  had  be- 
come the  breath  of  her  life.  She  coquetted  with  one 
lover  after  another,  and  each,  at  times,  believed  him- 
self the  favored  suitor,  and  at  others,  full  of  mad 
jealousies,  was  ready  to  shoot  his  rivals. 

John  Dacres,  however,  was  easily  deceived  by  the 
accomplished  flirt.  His  nature, was  singularly  ingen- 
uous and  trustful  with  his  friends ;  and  the  hand- 
some, sparkling  girl  soon  made  a  profound  impression 
upon  his  heart  and  imagination. 

In  his  presence,  too,  Madeline  was  another  woman 
—  a  softer,  more  serious  one  ;  and  this  was  really  not 
mere  acting  on  her  part.  In  his  society,  under  his  in- 
fluence, she  was  drawn  to  a  higher  mood ;  but  the 


258  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

reaction  would  come,  and,  in  his  absence,  she  would 
flirt  more  desperately  than  ever. 

At  this  crisis  Andrew  Reeves  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  He  was  a  remote  connection  of  Madeline, 
and  in  their  Eastern  home  they  had  been  thrown 
much  together. 

Reeves  was  a  quick-witted,  jovial  young  fellow, 
with  good  looks  and  agreeable  manners,  ambitious  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world.  Before  he  set  out  for 
the  West  for  the  fortune  he  was  bent  on  acquiring, 
Madeline  had  promised  to  be  his  wife.  She  had,  in 
the  opinion  of  her  small  social  world,  secured  the 
great  prize.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  for  more 
than  two  years  when  they  met  in  San  Francisco. 
The  young  man  had  spent  much  time  in  southern 
California  and  in  Mexico.  His  associations  had  not 
been  of  a  kind  to  elevate  him  morally ;  but  they 
had  sharpened  his  faculties,  given  him  a  large  knowl- 
edge of  one  side  of  the  world,  and  developed  his 
native  capacity  for  making  himself  agreeable  in  any 
society  in  which  he  happened  to  find  himself. 

The  two  had  corresponded  during  these  years. 
Madeline  had  often  questioned  with  herself  whether 
she  should  not  break  the  engagement ;  but  Andrew 
had  always  taken  its  continued  existence  for  granted, 
and  now  he  appeared,  much  improved  in  certain 
respects,  with  the  power  of  old  association  and  habit 
in  his  favor,  and  with  the  reputation  of  having 
achieved  a  grand  fortune. 

During  these  years  Madeline  had  changed  too. 
She  enjoyed  the  exercise  of  her  power  over  men ; 
she  knew  how,  in  their  eyes,  her  sparkling  talk  and 


A    BOSTON    GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  259 

dashing  manner  enhanced  her  good  looks ;  and  she 
was  mistress  of  all  the  arts  and  graces  of  a  finished 
coquette.  Her  lover  was  fairly  taken  by  storm.  All 
his  old  passion  revived. 

The  only  man  of  whom  Andrew  Reeves  ever 
showed  the  slightest  jealousy  was  John  Dacres.  He 
was  absolutely  indifferent  to  all  Madeline's  other  suit- 
ors, and  seemed  rather  to  enjoy  her  flirtations  and  tri- 
umphs ;  but  from  his  first  meeting  with  young  Dacres, 
he  regarded  him  as  a  dangerous  rival.  The  object  of 
this  jealousy  had  not  the  remotest  suspicion  of  its 
existence.  All  the  same,  Reeves  made  every  effort  to 
win  the  young  man's  confidence  and  favor,  in  which 
he  succeeded. 

The  interviews  between  the  lovers  were  often 
stormy.  Enraged  at  his  reproaches  and  the  manner 
in  which  he  insisted  on  their  engagement,  Madeline 
often  vowed  to  herself  she  would  break  it ;  but  when 
it  came  to  that  point,  Andrew  still  maintained  some 
of  his  old  influence  over  the  proud,  undisciplined 
girl.  His  strong  will,  his  dash  and  audacity,  attracted 
her.  Sometimes  she  believed  that  she  hated  him  ;  at 
others,  she  was  not  certain  whether  she  feared  or 
loved  him. 

The  fact  that  Reeves  was  Madeline's  relative,  as  it 
had  been  represented  to  young  Dacres,  fully  ac- 
counted to  him  for  their  intimacy.  The  two  men 
began  to  have  an  interest  in  some  mining  specula- 
tions. Reeves  was  bent  on  their  entering  into  busi- 
ness relations. 

But  though  he  courted  young  Dacres'  society  on 
every  occasion,  he  had  the  habit,  when  alone  with 


260  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Madeline,  and  when  rage  and  jealousy  got  the  better 
of  his  usual  self-command,  of  expressing  the  utmost 
contempt  for  his  rival,  "for  his  high-flown  ideas,  his 
absurd  notions  of  business  honor,  his  conscientious 
scruples,  that  would,  no  doubt,  go  down  in  the  nursery 
and  infant  school,  for  which  they  were  well  adapted, 
but  were  the  most  infernal  humbug  in  the  eyes  of 
any  man  who  knew  the  world." 

All  this  while  Madeline  was  encouraging  John 
Dacres'  suit.  He  had  not,  indeed,  urged  it  in  words ; 
but  she  knew  perfectly  that  he  was  only  waiting  for 
a  suitable  time  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  always 
managed  to  put  off  the  critical  moment;  but  she  had 
a  thousand  ways  of  leaving  him  in  no  doubt  as  to 
what  her  answer  would  be. 

His  confidence  in  her  was  not  surprising.  John 
Dacres  had  not  been  brought  up  among  women,  and 
it  was  natural  to  his  fine  and  generous  nature  to 
idealize  those  for  whom  he  cared. 

The  end  came  suddenly  —  when  all  the  three  were 
least  prepared  for  it.  Madeline  had  returned  from  a 
long  drive  with  young  Dacres.  She  always  believed 
that  he  had  meant  that  day  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife ; 
and  that  all  her  woman's  tact  had  barely  sufficed  to 
postpone  the  question  she  was  not  prepared  to  an- 
swer. On  their  return,  they  met  Reeves.  The  sight 
had  inflamed  his  jealousy. 

He  came  to  the  house  soon  afterward,  and  the  in- 
terview which  followed  was  the  stormiest  that  ever 
took  place  between  the  two. 

When  Andrew  Reeves'  rage  was  at  white  heat,  he 
could  be  outwardly  calm,  and  insufferably  aggravat- 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  261 

ing ;  but,  at  this  time,  his  passion  slipped  its  leash, 
and  he  overwhelmed  Madeline  with  accusations  and 
reproaches  for  her  faithlessness  to  their  engagement, 
while  she  continued  to  encourage  the  suit  of  another. 

The  scene  reached  its  climax,  when  John  Dacres 
suddenly  appeared  from  an  alcove  that  opened  out  of 
the  room,  and  was  shielded  by  draperies,  so  that  one 
inside  could  hear  every  sjdlable  spoken  in  the  larger 
apartment.  The  young  man  had  returned  for  a 
volume  he  had  inadvertently  left  behind.  A  loud, 
angry  sentence  held  him  spellbound.  Others  fol- 
lowed in  the  same  strain,  a  part  of  them  in  the  voice 
that  had  grown  so  dear  to  him,  before  he  realized 
what  he  was  doing. 

Madeline  gave  a  little  cry,  as  she  caught  sight  of 
him,  and  sank  upon  the  sofa.  Even  Reeves,  whose 
coolness  was  proof  against  almost  any  emergency, 
turned  white,  and  did  not  utter  a  word. 

But  John  Dacres  had  nothing  to  say  to  him.  He 
turned  to  Madeline ;  there  was  an  awful  scorn  in  his 
eyes  —  in  his  quiet,  incisive  tones.  "I  beg  your  par- 
don," he  said.  "  As  soon  as  I  found  I  was  listening, 
I  came  out.  You  cannot  be  surprised,  if  I  did  not 
realize  for  an  instant  what  I  was  doing.  But  I  have 
heard  enough.  Madeline  Reeves,  you  have  been  one 
long  LIE  to  me  from  the  beginning !  " 

Then  he  turned  and  left  them.  Reeves  threatened, 
swore,  wanted  to  follow  and  fight  him  for  the  word 
he  had  spoken  to  Madeline ;  but  she  hung  to  him 
—  held  him  back  almost  by  main  force. 

They  never  saw  John  Dacres  again. 

Andrew  Reeves'  power  was  strong  enough  to  win 


262  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Madeline  at  the  last.  They  were  married  in  less 
than  three  months  after  that  scene  in  the  parlor. 
But  she  always  had  a  feeling  that  when  John  Dacres 
had  turned  and  left  her  that  day,  with  the  scorn  in 
his  eyes,  and  the  dreadful  word  on  his  lips,  he  had 
carried  with  him  something  of  herself,  something 
that  was  best,  and  truest,  and  that  might,  perhaps, 
have  belonged  to  him. 

The  marriage  did  not,  in  the  end,  prove  a  happy 
one.  So  long  as  fortune  smiled,  Andrew  Reeves  was 
a  kind  husband.  No  doubt,  Madeline  was  the  only 
woman  he  had  ever  really  cared  for.  But,  after  a 
while,  his  temper  grew  soured,  embittered,  as  one 
business  trouble  followed  another,  and,  with  the  de- 
cline of  his  fortunes,  he  fell  among  bad  influences, 
grew  more  or  less  dissipated,  and  his  temper,  over 
which  he  had  always  showed  great  control,  began  to 
wax  explosive  and  savage. 

Madeline's  health  and  high  spirits  failed  with  their 
misfortunes.  Her  two  children  died ;  she  saw  the 
evil  side  of  her  husband  come  more  and  more  to  the 
surface,  while  her  own  influence  over  him,  powerful 
at  the  first,  began  steadily  to  decline. 

At  last  there  were  pecuniary  transactions,  the 
nature  of  which  his  wife  never  precisely  understood, 
which  made  it  necessary  that  Reeves  should  leave 
California,  secretly  and  suddenly. 

They  came  east,  stopping  at  Rochester,  where 
Reeves  had  business  acquaintances,  and  hoped  to 
retrieve  his  fortunes.  But  these  did  not  brighten 
rapidly  as  he  expected.  In  his  morose  moods,  he 
would  swear  that  an  evil  fate  tracked  him.  He 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  263 

drank  heavily  at  this  time,  but  the  habit  did  not 
shake  his  nerves  —  it  only  made  his  brain  cool  and 
steady  for  the  gambling  in  which  he  now  indulged, 
with  varied  fortunes. 

One  day,  sitting  on  the  veranda  of  the  hotel,  he 
saw  a  tall,  singularly  beautiful  woman  pass  by.  He 
inquired  her  name,  learned  she  was  the  widow  of 
John  Dacres,  who  had  been  killed,  the  year  before,  in 
the  war.  The  name  at  once  riveted  Reeves'  atten- 
tion. Subsequent  inquiries  satisfied  him  of  the 
identity  of  the  dead  officer  with  his  former  friend. 
Reeves  took  pains  to  learn  every  fact  connected 
with  the  widow  and  her  children.  She  was  quite 
alone ;  her  father  had  died  soon  after  her  mar- 
riage ;  her  husband  had  brought  his  family  to  Roch- 
ester, intending  to  go  into  business.  Then  the  war 
broke  out ;  he  joined  the  army,  was  a  captain  in  one 
of  the  earliest  regiments  that  went  to  the  field. 

Reeves  also  learned  that  John  Dacres  had  left  a 
considerable  fortune,  largely  in  California  mining- 
stocks  and  lands.  His  father-in-law,  president  of  a 
college  in  western  New  York,  had  also  left  his 
daughter  a  small  property. 

At  the  time  Andrew  Reeves  learned  these  facts, 
his  fortunes  had  reached  their  nadir,  his  brief  gam- 
bling luck  had  deserted  him ;  his  wife,  who  had  a 
high  temper  of  her  own,  began  to  dread  his  savage 
moods. 

Mrs.  Reeves  never  knew  the  precise  time  when 
the  plot  he  afterwards  consummated  wTith  such  cool 
villany,  first  entered  her  husband's  mind.  She 
noticed  a  deadly  gleam  in  his  eye,  when  he  swore 


A   BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS. 

that  the  day  had  come  to  turn  the  tables  on  fate  — 
that  he  was  going  to  do  it,  too,  by  fair  means  or  foul ! 

Then  he  began  to  hint  darkly  that  lie  must  have 
money  to  lift  him  out  of  his  present  state;  and  that 
it  was  in  her  power  to  aid  him  to  get  it. 

Mrs.  Reeves  was  rendered  very  uneasy  by  this 
talk.  The  brilliant,  high-spirited  girl  had,  by  this 
time,  subsided  into  the  faded,  disappointed  woman. 
When  she  begged  her  husband  to  explain  himself, 
he  lapsed  into  sullen  silence.  But  she  had  a  feeling 
that  some  mischief  was  brewing. 

Mrs.  Reeves  had  learned  of  John  Dacres'  death, 
and  of  the  widow  and  children  who  were  living  in 
Rochester.  She  knew  that  her  husband  had  once 
set  his  heart  on  entering  into  a  business  partnership 
with  the  dead  man,  and  that  he  always  believed  he 
should  have  succeeded  to  his  own  immense  advan- 
tage, if  the  interview  between  him  and  Madeline  had 
not  proved  fatal  to  all  such  projects. 

When  Reeves  had  matured  the  plot,  on  which  he 
had  been  brooding  for  some  time,  the  first  step, 
which  he  probably  regarded  as  the  most  difficult 
one,  was  to  broach  it  to  his  wife.  He  made  his 
approaches  in  a  tentative  way,  which,  for  a  while, 
hopelessly  bewildered  her.  But  one  after  another, 
as  he  talked  on  for  hours,  sometimes  parrying  her 
questions,  sometimes  fairly  meeting  them,  the  hid- 
eous features  came  to  light,  and  at  last  the  whole 
infamous  scheme  was  laid  bare  to  the  horrified 
woman.  It  was  simply  a  plot  to  blackmail  the 
widow  of  John  Dacres!  Madeline's  r61e  was  to  pass 
herself  off  as  his  first  wife,  privately  married  to  him 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  265 

in  California.  Mrs.  Dacres  was  quite  alone.  She 
had  no  near  living  relatives.  Once  convinced  of  the 
fact  of  the  previous  marriage,  she  would  be  ready, 
for  her  own  sake,  for  the  good  name  of  her  children, 
to  pay  a  heavy  price  for  the  silence  of  those  most 
interested.  Reeves  would  manage  all  that.  He 
would  make  Mrs.  Dacres  fully  alive  to  the  misery 
and  disgrace  which  the  publicity  of  the  facts  would 
involve  for  her  and  her  children.  Madeline  was  to 
agree  to  waive  her  claims,  if  her  successor  would 
make  over  to  her  a  piece  of  valuable  mining  prop- 
erty which  she  owned  in  California.  Reeves  had 
ferreted  out  this  fact.  In  the  interview,  he  proposed 
to  represent  himself  as  Madeline's  cousin  and  friend, 
as  well  as  a  witness  of  her  first  marriage.  His  plan 
was  to  strike  at  once,  —  swiftly,  boldly,  straight  at 
the  mark. 

Reeves  was,  no  doubt,  prepared  for  his  wife's  first 
recoil  from  the  whole  foul  business.  But  he  was 
determined  and  desperate.  All  the  evil  forces  of 
his  nature  were  roused  at  this  time.  He  counted  on 
being  able,  after  a  while,  to  overcome  his  wife's 
scruples,  and  to  partly  force  and  partly  cajole  her 
into  abetting  him. 

She  was  dumb  with  horror  as  his  meaning  revealed 
itself.  When  she  spoke,  at  last,  it  was  to  avow  her 
solemn  determination  to  die  of  starvation  before  she 
would  lift  a  finger  in  aid  of  so  monstrous  a  crime. 

Then  Reeves  turned  on  her  savagely ;  he  swore 
they  had  come  to  their  last  dollar.  They  were 
heavily  in  debt  for  their  board  at  the  hotel.  In  a 
few  days  they  would  be  turned  into  the  street. 


266  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

A  week  went  by.  Reeves  gave  the  wretched 
woman  no  peace ;  he  used  all  the  influence  he  pos- 
sessed, and  all  his  knowledge  of  his  wife's  character, 
in  order  to  secure  her  aid  in  carrying  out  his  plot ; 
he  played  on  her  pride,  on  her  fears,  on  any  lingering 
affection  she  might  have  for  himself.  Sometimes  he 
argued  and  entreated;  at  others,  he  grew  white  with 
passion,  and  threatened  her  with  his  vengeance,  if 
she  persisted  in  her  refusal. 

At  last,  frantic  with  misery,  Madeline  resolved  to 
end  the  matter  by  destroying  herself;  but,  when  it 
came  to  the  pinch,  her  courage  failed. 

She  had  proved  less  manageable  than  her  husband 
anticipated.  But,  in  the  end,  his  calculations  came 
true.  One  day,  worn  out,  body  and  mind,  with  her 
long  resistance,  and  feeling  she  had  no  further 
strength  to  oppose  him,  Madeline  consented  to  do 
what  her  husband  required. 

The  man  had  not  hitherto  been  a  fiend.  No 
doubt,  it  was  disagreeable  enough  to  him  to  force  his 
wife  to  this  act.  But  the  old  deadly  gleam  would 
flash  in  his  eyes,  as  he  ended  each  talk  by  saying : 
"  I  must  have  money !  this  is  the  only  way  to  come  at 
it ! "  and  then  he  would  swear  that  "  in  spite  of  God, 
man,  or  the  devil,  he  would  have  John  Dacres'  land  !  " 

Reeves  gave  his  wife  no  time  for  reflection  ;  he 
always  insisted  that  her  share  in  the  interview,  on 
which  hung  such  issues  for  the  three,  should  not  be 
a  difficult  one.  She  would  simply  have  to  corrobo- 
rate his  statements  at  critical  points,  and  insist  on 
her  relation  to  the  dead  man,  which  would,  of  course, 
invalidate  that  of  Mrs.  Dacres. 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  267 

The  day  after  Madeline's  consent  had  been  wrung 
from  her,  the  interview  took  place.  —  As  she  ap- 
proached this  culminating  point  in  her  confession, 
the  dying  woman's  breath  began  to  fail.  Nobody 
ever  learned  the  full  details  of  that  meeting.  Weak, 
faltering  sentences  flashed  vivid  light  upon  scenes 
and  moments:  but  much  that  went  untold  was  sup- 
plied by  the  imaginations  of  her  hearers. 

Reeves  played  his  villanous  game  consummately. 
So  far  as  was  possible,  he  spared  his  wife :  she  fol- 
lowed his  lead  absolutely;  she  confirmed  his  story 
whenever  he  appealed  to  her.  It  seemed,  all  the 
time,  as  though  it  was  not  herself  who  was  speaking  — 
as  though  she  was  acting  a  part  in  some  horrible  dream. 

The  blow,  of  course,  fell  on  a. victim  totally  un- 
prepared. Reeves'  plot  had  been  well  devised  to 
impose  on  a  helpless  woman,  whom  life  had  kept  in 
singular  ignorance  of  the  worst  side  of  the  world. 
Even  Madeline,  as  she  listened,  found  herself  half 
wondering  whether  her  husband  was  not  telling  the 
truth ;  his  knowledge  of  young  Dacres'  character,  of 
dates,  names,  and  events,  coincided  with  much  that 
must  be  perfectly  familiar  to  Mrs.  Dacres. 

She  listened,  at  first,  in  stunned  silence.  She  ap- 
peared bewildered,  her  faculties  frozen  by  the  sur- 
prise and  hideousness  of  the  thing.  At  last,  its 
whole  drift  flashed  upon  her  consciousness ;  she  rose 
to  her  feet ;  her  face  was  white  as  the  dead ;  a  great 
wrath  and  scorn  burned  in  her  eyes ;  she  declined  to 
listen  to  another  word ;  she  passionately  avowed  her 
faith  in  her  husband's  innocence  and  honor;  she 
turned  toward  the  door. 


268  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

But  the  poor  young  wife  was  in  the  toils.  Reeves 
was  prepared  for  all  that ;  he  produced  a  package  of 
letters  —  two  or  three  of  these,  unimportant  notes, 
had  been  written  by  John  Dacres  to  Madeline ;  the 
others,  in  which  he  addressed  her  as  his  wife,  had 
been  composed  by  Reeves,  who  had  successfully 
counterfeited,  not  only  the  handwriting,  but  the  very 
tricks  of  expression  of  the  dead  man. 

The  interview  lasted  for  hours.  There  came  a 
time  when  Mrs.  Dacres  dragged  herself  across  the 
room,  with  a  pallid,  smitten  face,  an  awful  agony 
in  her  strained,  wild  eyes,  and  stood  still  before 
Madeline  Reeves. 

For  a  few  moments  the  two  women  looked  silently 
in  each  other's  face.  Then  Mrs.  Dacres  spoke :  "  I 
have  heard  your  name.  He  told  me  that  he  cared 
for  you  once ;  but  that  you  had  deceived  him,  and 
that  the  end  came  suddenly,  and  that  you  had  died 
from  that  moment  out  of  his  thought  and  heart. 
I  begged  him  not  to  go  on,  for  I  saw  he  dreaded  lest 
he  should  pain  me  by  recalling  that  old  memory, 
and  he  said,  '  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  fear, 
Grace ;  nothing  to  shame  me  in  that  time,  except 
my  faith  in  a  false  woman.  Sometime  }TOU  shall 
know  all  about  it.' 

"And  now  will  you  —  the  woman  whom  he  said 
deceived  him — swear  to  me  —  the  mother  of  John 
Dacres'  children  —  that  you  were  his  wife  ?  " 

There  was  an  instant's  pause.  Then  the  low,  stern 
voice  of  Andrew  Reeves  came  into  the  silence  —  the 
voice  which  his  wife  had  grown  to  recognize  as  that 
of  her  master.  "  You  hear  what  she  asks,  Madeline  ?  " 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  269 

Then  she  rose ;  she  swore  the  oath ! 

When  she  heard  that,  Mrs.  Dacres  cowered  and 
sank  down  with  a  low,  heart-broken  cry,  "  Oh,  my 
poor  boy  and  girl !  " 

Afterward  all  was  easy.  There  had  been  no  loud 
talking,  no  threats.  Reeves  had,  throughout  the 
interview,  carried  himself  with  the  air  of  a  gentle- 
man. He  played  his  last  cards  with  cool  adroitness : 
he  insisted  that  he  felt  the  utmost  sympathy  for  the 
situation  in  which  the  supposed  widow  and  the  chil- 
dren of  John  Dacres  were  placed. 

The  marriage  of  his  cousin  —  as  Reeves  through 
all  the  talk  represented  his  wife  —  had  been  a  strictly 
private  one,  with  only  a  single  witness  beside  him- 
self. The  reason  for  this  was  the  strong  opposition 
of  Madeline's  father  to  his  daughter's  union  with 
John  Dacres.  She  had  other  and  richer  suitors, 
whom  the  old  man  favored. 

The  marriage  had  not  been  made  public  when, 
soon  afterward,  Dacres  left  California  for  a  short 
time,  no  doubt  intending  to  keep  his  word,  return, 
and  acknowledge  his  young  wife. 

Other  attractions,  however,  proved  powerful 
enough  to  overcome  all  scruples  of  duty  and 
honor. 

But  John  Dacres  was  in  his  grave,  and  his  widow 
had  no  desire  to  inflict  misery  on  others.  She,  who 
had  suffered  so  much,  was  ready  to  spare  another 
woman  —  a  mother,  too!  She  shrank  from  publish- 
ing the  father's  shame,  the  children's  illegitimacy,  to 
the  world  ! 

But  Mrs.  Dacres  had  been  left  without  resources. 


270  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

It  was  only  the  barest  justice  that  she  should  have 
some  share  of  her  husband's  property. 

When  she  heard  that,  Grace  Dacres  lifted  her  white 
face.  "  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  fortunes  for  which  Andrew  Reeves  had  staked 
so  much  hung  on  his  next  move ;  he  reverted  to 
the  mining  property  in  California;  he  stated  that 
young  Dacres  had,  soon  after  his  marriage,  promised 
to  make  that  over  to  his  wife.  If  this  were  done 
now,  she  would  solemnly  pledge  herself  never  to 
show  her  marriage  certificate  to  human  eyes ;  never 
to  reveal  her  secret  to  a  soul. 

There  was  no  danger  of  publicity  from  any  other 
source.  The  clergyman  who  performed  the  cere- 
mony, the  friend  who,  with  Andrew  Reeves,  had 
witnessed  it,  were  both  dead.  Mrs.  Dacres  had 
never  borne  her  husband's  name ;  he  must  have 
known  her  well  enough  to  feel  perfectly  assured 
she  would  never  assert  her  claims  after  he  had  de- 
serted her. 

No  suspicion  of  blackmail  crossed  the  mind  of 
the  white,- crushed  woman  who  listened  to  this  talk. 
With  her  husband's  letters  before  her  e}7es,  with  all 
the  supplementary  evidence  which  Reeves  adduced, 
she  was  forced  to  believe  his  horrible  story.  His 
claim  seemed  to  her  a  just  one.  Measuring  another 
woman's  sufferings  by  her  own,  she  was  eager  to 
make  some  reparation  to  the  wife  she  had  super- 
seded. It  was  arranged  that  the  transfer  of  the 
property  should  be  made  to  Andrew  Reeves  —  his 
cousin,  he  stated,  had  reasons  for  wishing  him  to 
hold  it  for  her  —  the  next  morning. 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  271 

Andrew  Reeves  must  have  felt  the  triumph  of  the 
wicked,  as  he  returned  home.  Yet  he  was,  no  doubt, 
glad  to  get  away  from  that  woman's  eyes.  The 
interview  had  not  been  an  easy  one,  even  for  his 
strong  nerves,  his  hardened  conscience. 

On  their  way  to  the  hotel,  the  two  said  but  little 
to  each  other.  Soon  after  they  reached  their  room, 
Madeline  rose  and  went  toward  the  door.  Her  hus- 
band had  been  watching  her  for  some  minutes.  He 
sprang  before  her  now.  "Where  are  you  going?" 
he  asked. 

"  To  tell  that  woman  it  was  all  a  lie ! "  she  an- 
swered. 

Then  he  swore  a  terrible  oath,  and  felled  her  to 
the  floor.  It  was  the  first  blow  he  had  ever  dealt 
her.  She  was  senseless  for  some  time. 

For  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  she  was  unable  to 
leave  her  bed.  Reeves  said  to  her,  more  than  once, 
"If  you  betray  us  now,  I  will  kill  you !  "  She  saw 
that  in  his  eyes  which  satisfied  her  he  meant  what 
he  said. 

The  next  morning  his  villany  was  consummated. 
He  called  on  Mrs.  Dacres,  with  two  hotel  acquaint- 
ances. These  men  were  his  creditors.  They  prob- 
ably had  no  suspicion  of  foul  play.  Reeves  explained 
the  whole  transaction  in  his  rapid,  plausible  way. 
Mrs.  Dacres  was  too  stunned  by  her  recent  blow  to 
perceive  his  sophistries.  Indeed,  it  was  doubtful 
whether  she  heard  a  word  that  he  said  ;  but  her 
very  indifference  enabled  her  to  go  through  with 
her  part  calmly.  The  California  lands  were,  in  the 
end,  made  over  to  Reeves. 


272  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Two  days  later,  he,  with  his  wife,  left  Rochester. 

The  ill-gotten  gains  did  not  prosper.  The  sales 
brought  less  than  thirty  thousand  dollars,  where 
Reeves  had  counted  on  more  than  fifty.  His  invest- 
ments did  not  turn  out  well.  A  part  of  the  money 
was  lost  in  gambling.  In  a  little  while,  he  was  an 
impoverished  man  again. 

They  came  to  Boston,  where  Reeves  was  engaged 
in  various  enterprises — some  of  which,  his  wife 
suspected,  would  not  bear  the  light.  He  drank 
heavily ;  he  often  treated  her  brutally.  She  had  no 
friends  to  whom  she  could  appeal.  Her  health 
gradually  failed.  One  great  remorse,  one  awful 
memory,  haunted  her  life  ! 

One  winter  evening,  about  six  years  ago,  Andrew 
Reeves,  returning  home,  had  slipped  and  fallen  on 
the  ice.  His  spine  was  injured.  He  was  carried  to 
the  hospital.  The  hurt  proved  fatal.  He  died  in 
less  than  a  month. 

He  had  not,  for  years,  mentioned,  in  his  wife's 
hearing,  Mrs.  Dacres'  name. 

Madeline  Reeves'  voice  suddenly  grew  faint.  The 
light  that  had  burned  in  her  eyes  faded.  "  There  is 
no  time  for  more,"  she  gasped.  "  I  could  not  die 
without  telling  you  the  truth,  begging  you  to  for- 
give me ! " 

Had  marble  statues  sat  in  their  places,  they  could 
not  have  been  whiter  than  the  two  who  listened, 
speechless,  motionless,  to  the  dying  woman's  story. 

As  she  went  on,  one  memory  rose  to  Carryl 
Dacres,  and  did  not  vanish  through  all  the  talk.  It 
was  that  of  his  poor  young  mother,  as  she  came  into 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  273 

the  room,  after  her  terrible  interview.  It  seemed  to 
him  he  should  never  see  anything  all  his  life  but 
the  wild,  piteous  look  in  her  eyes. 

The  heart  of  Carryl  Dacres  was  tender  as  a 
woman's,  but  at  that  moment,  with  his  mother's  face 
before  him,  with  the  thought  of  the  long  yeai-s' 
grief,  ending  only  with  the  flash  of  joy  that  killed 
her,  he  could  only  feel  that  the  woman  before  him 
had  done  her  part  in  that  day's  dreadful  work.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  his  face  hardened  to  an  awful  stern- 
ness. He  gave  one  glance  at  the  bed  —  a  glance 
full  of  pitiless -reproach,  that  was  like  an  unuttered 
doom,  and  then,  without  a  word,  he  turned  and  left 
the  room. 

Dorrice  was  alone  with  the  dying  woman.  She 
saw  the  despair  which  crept  into  the  glazing  eyes. 
She  heard  the  moan  from  the  cold  lips,  "  He  will  not 
forgive  me,  and  I  am  going  to  God !  " 

It  was  fortunate  for  Dorrice  Dacres  that  all  which 
had  happened  on  that  fatal  day,  lay  just  beyond  the 
border  line  of  her  memory.  At  this  moment,  she 
was  only  conscious  of  the  remorseful  agony  in  the 
woman's  cry. 

She  turned  away ;  she  went  swiftly  from  the  room ; 
she  found  Carryl  alone  in  the  doctor's  office.  He 
sat  by  the  table,  on  which  his  arms  were  crossed ;  he 
had  buried  his  face  in  them. 

Dorrice  went  straight  to  him ;  she  pulled  his 
sleeve.  He  looked  up ;  he  saw  the  appealing  eyes. 

The  dark  young  face  seemed  to  harden  into  stone, 
as  he  gazed  at  her.  "  How  dare  you  ask  that  ?  "  he 
said,  in  low,  stern  tones.  "  Think  of  our  mother !  " 


274  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  She  would  ask  you  what  I  do ! "  came  the 
solemn,  pleading  answer.  "  Oh !  Carryl,  come 
quickly,  or  it  will  be  too  late,  and  you  will  be  sorry 
all  your  life !  Remember  you,  one  day,  must  be 
where  she  is  —  must  ask  God's  mercy,  too  !  " 

His  head  sank  once  more  in  his  hands.  A  shiver 
went  over  the  strong  young  frame.  In  a  moment 
he  lifted  his  face.  There  was  a  dreadful  whiteness 
in  it ;  but  he  rose,  without  saying  a  word,  and  left 
the  room  with  his  sister. 

The  dying  eyes  opened  as  the  steps  came  about 
the  bed.  They  saw  Carryl,  with  his  father's  face, 
standing  there.  He  bent  over  Madeline  Reeves. 
"  I  forgive  you,"  he  said,  in  the  low,  solemn  tones 
through  which  one  human  heart  speaks  to  another. 
"  May  God  forgive  you,  too  —  God  and  my  mother !  " 

There  was  a  flash  of  joy  in  the  glazing  eyes. 
That  was  a  smile  that  flickered  about  the  drawn 
lips.  She  turned  to  Dorrice.  The  look  in  the 
girl's  pitying  face  answered  her  question. 

Madeline  Reeves  reached  out  her  cold  hands  to 
the  two.  When  she  held  them,  she  did  not  speak. 
A  moment  later,  the  May  sunshine  was  smiling  on 
the  face  of  the  dead  woman. 


XXXV. 

THE  blackmail  of  which  Mrs.  Dacres  had  been 
made  the  victim  was  a  crude  and  bungling  piece  of 
villany.  A  sharp  cross-examination,  by  a  shrewd 
lawyer,  would  have  shown  up  Reeves'  plot  in  all  its 
naked  scoundrelism.  But  it  was  well  adapted  to 
accomplish  its  purpose  with  a  lonely,  helpless  woman, 
eager  to  spare  her  husband's  memory  and  her  chil- 
dren's good  name. 

Grace  Carryl  had  been  brought  up  by  her  schol- 
arly old  father  in  a  sheltered  life,  which  afforded 
very  little  knowledge  of  the  world.  He  had  doated 
on  her.  He  had  devoted  much  time  and  pains  to 
her  mental  training,  but  he  could  not  supply  the  in- 
fluence of  the  mother  she  had  lost  in  her  childhood. 

The  carefully  reared  girl  bloomed  into  early 
womanhood,  a  lovely  creature  in  mind  and  character. 
On  his  return  from  California,  John  Dacres  stopped 
to  see  an  acquaintance  in  the  small  town  where  the 
college  president  lived,  and  so  met  his  daughter  at 
the  house  where  the  young  man  was  visiting. 

What  followed  was  almost  a  story  of  love  at  first 
sight.  Grace  Carryl's  beauty,  her  fresh  charm  of 
mind  and  manner,  fascinated  the  stranger,  and  the 
dark-eyed,  handsome  young  traveller,  with  some  per- 

275 


276  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

sonal  quality  that  attracted  all  sorts  of  people, 
made  at  once  a  powerful  impression  on  the  heart  of 
the  young  maiden. 

In  less  than  six  months  after  their  first  meeting, 
the  two  were  betrothed ;  in  less  than  a  year  they 
were  married. 

The  old  college  president  had  been  extremely 
fond  of  his  son-in-law,  but  he  survived  the  marriage 
less  than  two  years.  Soon  after  his  death,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Dacres  removed,  with  their  infant  boy,  to 
Rochester,  where,  a  little  later,  Dorrice  was  born. 

A  fine  opportunity  for  entering  into  business  had 
opened  to  John  Dacres.  But,  at  this  crisis,  the  war 
broke  out.  He  was  full  of  patriotic  ardor ;  and  when 
offered  a  captaincy  in  a  regiment,  he  accepted  it. 

His  married  life  had  been  one  of  rare  happiness. 
After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Dacres'  father,  the  pair  were 
left  with  no  near  connections,  and  this  fact  tended 
to  make  them  all  the  world  to  each  other. 

The  sudden  tidings  of  John  Dacres'  death  had 
prostrated  his  young  wife  for  a  while.  She  rallied, 
at  last,  for  the  sake  of  her  fatherless  children.  She 
had,  too,  the  proud  consciousness  that  her  husband 
had  given  his  life  to  his  country.  When  the  later 
blackness  fell,  the  earlier  grief  must  have  appeared 
a  light  one. 

John  Dacres  had  made  a  mistake  in  not  relating  to 
his  wife  the  whole  story  of  his  acquaintance  with 
Madeline  Reeves.  He  had,  it  appeared,  intended  to 
do  this ;  but,  when  the  time  came,  he  shrank  from  the 
recital.  He  had  been  the  dupe  of  an  artful  woman,  and 
it  was  not  pleasant  to  reveal  that  experience  to  the 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  277 

fine,  unsoiled  nature  of  the  girl  he  was  to  wed.  It 
no  doubt  seemed  to  him  enough  to  tell  all  that  honor 
demanded. 

Andrew  Reeves  had  read  his  victim  well.  A  more 
worldly-wise  woman  —  one  who  had  loved  less  — 
would,  after  that  harrowing  interview,  have  sought 
the  counsel  of  some  trusted  friend.  Had  Mrs. 
Dacres  done  this  —  had  she  even  consulted  her  hus- 
band's lawyers  —  she  would  have  saved  herself  years 
of  cruel  anguish. 

But  her  maternal  instincts  made  the  young  mother 
strong  to  suffer  and  be  silent.  She  had  a  stinging 
consciousness  that  she  and  her  children  had  no  right 
to  the  name  they  bore ;  she  dreaded  to  look  her 
friends  in  the  face.  These  were  comparatively  few 
in  the  city  where  she  had  spent  three  years  of  perfect 
wedded  life,  and  one  of  widowed  seclusion.  She 
could  not  return  to  the  old  home  she  had  left  in  her 
pride  and  happiness.  She  could  not  look  upon  the 
old  scenes  and  faces  and  hear  constant  talk  of  her 
husband.  That  would  drive  her  mad ;  she  longed  to 
get  away  into  hiding  with  her  children,  among  peo- 
ple who  had  never  heard  his  name. 

She  happened,  through  a  former  maid,  to  know 
something  of  Foxlow  —  the  pretty  scattered  hamlet 
nestled  deep  among  the  Berkshire  Hills  In  a  little 
while,  she  arranged  to  go  there.  They  went  first  to 
Deacon  Spinner's.  Afterward,  they  rented  a  small, 
pleasant  cottage  near  his  own. 

The  young  life  growing  up  around  her — the  care 
and  training  of  her  children  —  proved  Mrs.  Dacres' 
salvation  at  this  time.  Something  like  a  shadow  of 


278  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

her  old  self  came  back,  as  maternal  interests  took  the 
place  of  all  others  in  her  heart  and  life.  The  boy 
and  girl  grew  used  to  the  sad  eyes,  to  the  quiet  ways 
of  their  mother.  Only  Carryl  could  remember  a 
time  when  she  was  different;  and  that  was  so  far 
away,  he  had  only  a  dim  idea  of  the  gay,  joyous  crea- 
ture she  had  once  been. 

The  two  had  a  happy  childhood.  The  mother 
would  not  have  their  young  lives  shadowed  by  the 
grief  that  had  wrecked  her  own.  Years  dulled,  in 
some  measure,  the  sharpness  of  that  first  agony. 
The  society  of  her  children  —  their  rare  promise  as 
they  grew  into  boyhood  and  girlhood  —  could  not  fail 
to  gladden  her  life.  The  old  impulse  to  hide  from 
the  world  had  been  so  far  vanquished  that  Mrs. 
Dacres  began  to  make  plans  for  removing  to  Boston, 
so  that  Carryl  should,  after  a  year's  study,  be  able  to 
enter  Harvard,  as  his  grandfather  had  done. 

The  widow  had  not  been  impoverished  by  making 
over  the  mining-lands  to  Reeves.  She  still  had  re- 
turns from  other  properties  which  her  husband  had 
owned  in  California.  Her  father  had  also  left  her 
all  he  possessed  —  a  few  thousands. 

But  she  was  obliged  to  draw  heavily  on  the  latter, 
as  her  California  remittances  grew  scantier  and  more 
infrequent.  No  doubt,  the  property  was  shamefully 
mismanaged.  Mrs.  Dacres  was  far  away,  and  knew 
little  of  business.  Her  confidence  was  sustained, 
and  her  anxieties  were  alleviated,  by  plausible 
promises  of  future  prosperity  and  increasing  divi- 
dends. She  had  no  idea  of  the  condition  of  affairs 
?t  the  time  of  her  death.  .  .  . 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  279 

For  days  after  that  scene  at  the  hospital,  the 
world  seemed  a  changed  world  to  Carryl  and  Dorrice 
Dacres.  The  present  was  a  kind  of  dream.  The 
past  absorbed  it. 

The  mystery  that  had  hung  about  their  lives  was 
cleared  up  now.  Their  mother  need  never  to  have 
cowered  before  her  children.  But  that  conscious- 
ness, and  the  relief  it  brought,  came  later.  The 
awful  wrong  that  had  been  done  seemed  to  lie  vast, 
and  press  close  around  them. 

Carryl  tried  to  bear  himself  bravely.  He  went  to 
his  recitations,  got  through  with  them  somehow  — 
but  the  fellows  said  to  him :  "  What  ails  you, 
Dacres  ?  You  look  as  though  you  had  taken  a 
second  trip  with  Dante,  through  the  Inferno ! " 

And  at  that  he  turned  about,  and  was  the  gayest 
of  the  crowd — the  very  leader  of  the  fun,  for  the 
next  hour. 

But  it  was  on  Dorrice  that  the  strain  told  heaviest. 
She  went  through  with  the  tasks  of  each  day.  But 
the  horror  was  still  too  near.  She  would,  every  few 
minutes,  lapse  into  forgetfulness.  Even  her  pupils 
felt  the  change. 

All  Carryl's  solicitude  was  aroused.  He  seemed 
to  hear  his  mother's  voice  saying :  "  That  little 
sister !  You  must  always  make  her  your  first  care." 
He  knew  now  what  that  meant. 

It  appeared  to  him  that  Dorrice's  eyes  looked 
more  than  ever  like  their  mother's.  He  insisted  on 
their  taking  long  walks  together,  where  each  relig- 
iously avoided  the  subject  that  was  uppermost  in 
their  thoughts.  But  these  hardly  proved  a  success. 


280  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Kent  returned,  Dorrice  went  out 
to  West  Newton  to  see  her.  The  girl  had  a  settled 
determination  not  to  betray,  by  look  or  word,  any- 
thing that  had  passed. 

They  had  been  talking,  for  half  an  hour  —  per- 
haps ;  and  Dorrice  was  finding  it  an  immense  pleas- 
ure to  be  with  her  friend  once  more,  when  the  lady 
suddenly  turned,  and,  looking  into  her  eyes,  anx- 
iously asked :  "  What  has  happened  to  my  little 
girl  since  I  went  away?" 

There  was  one  swift,  frightened  glance.  Then  the 
storm  broke.  Sobs  shook  the  girl  as  young  trees 
shake  in.  summer  gales.  Mrs.  Kent  was  much 
startled.  But  she  was  too  discreet  to  say  a  word. 
She  drew  the  dark  head  down  on  her  lap  ;  and  in 
that  nesting-place,  Dorrice  wept  away  some  of  the 
grief  and  horror  that  had  been  in  her  heart  —  it 
seemed  for  ages  —  it  was  only  four  days. 

When  the  words  came,  at  last,  they  were  a  broken 
cry :  "  It  is  all  about  mamma  —  poor  mamma  !  " 

After  that,  other  words  came.  The  sentences, 
broken  and  incoherent  at  first,  gathered  strength  and 
steadiness,  until,  at  last,  Mrs.  Kent  knew  the  story 
of  the  visit  to  the  hospital. 

She  was  the  one  friend  in  whom  it  was  safe  and 
wise  to  confide.  Profoundly  shocked,  as  she  could 
not  fail  to  be,  over  that  dying  confession,  her  insight 
and  sympathy  were  an  unspeakable  comfort  at  this 
time. 

When  Carryl  appeared  that  night,  Dorrice  met 
him  with  her  old  smile  —  with  the  fright  gone  out 
of  her  eyes.  He  turned  and  looked  with  a  long, 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  281 

questioning  gaze  at  Mrs.  Kent.  He  saw  that  she 
knew. 

Then  he  heard  Dorrice's :  "  Yes,  Carry],  I  have 
told  her." 

The  first  feeling  of  the  proud,  reticent  youth  was 
one  of  strong  recoil.  Mrs.  Kent  had  expected  that. 
But  she  did  her  part  with  such  wise  tenderness  that, 
before  the  evening  was  over,  Carryl's  heart  was 
lighter  because  she  knew. 

The  three  talked  far  into  the  midnight.  Mrs. 
Kent's  speech  was  like  the  dropping  of  balm  on  the 
hurt  places. 

In  the  confidences  of  that  time,  she  learned  much 
about  the  life  at  Foxlow  and  of  the  poor  hunted 
wife,  who  bore  her  griefs  with  such  long,  brave 
silence. 

"But  it  was  not  for  herself  —  not  even  for  us  — 
she  cared  mostly,"  said  Carryl.  "  She,  who  believed 
my  father  the  noblest  of  men,  had  to  face  the  horror 
of  his  crime  !  She  would  have  died  any  moment  with 
unutterable  joy  to  know  he  was  innocent ;  she  did 
die  when  she  believed  that !  Through  all,  too,  she 
never  doubted  his  love  for  her.  I  look  back  now, 
and  see  many  things  in  a  new  light.  She  believed 
it  was  his  feeling  for  her  which  lured  him  away 
from  the  other  woman,  after  he  learned  the  fatal  mis- 
take he  had  made  in  marrying  her.  I  think  she  al- 
ways had  a  great  pity  for  Madeline  Reeves.  For  my 
mother  loved  my  father  all  the  time  she  believed 
that  foul  lie.  In  those  nights  when  she  walked 
about  the  room  and  called  his  name,  a  great  passion 
of  tenderness  would  struggle  through  the  reproach 


282  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

of  her  voice.  I  can  hear  her  now  —  "  he  could  not 
get  on  any  farther. 

Mrs.  Kent  insisted  on  her  guests  remaining  over 
night.  She  kept  Dorrice  with  her  next  day. 

There  was  something  of  the  old  brightness  in  the 
girl's  face,  when  she  returned  with  Carryl  to  Pinck- 
ney  Street.  There  was  a  fresh  bond  between  the 
young  people  and  Mrs.  Kent. 

They  found  a  small  package  awaiting  them,  with 
a  note  from  the  doctor.  Mrs.  Reeves  had,  on  the 
morning  of  her  death,  exacted  a  promise  from  the 
nurse,  that,  in  case  the  young  lady  should  arrive  too 
late  for  an  interview,  the  package  should  be  for- 
warded to  her. 

Mrs.  Reeves  also  stated  that  her  husband,  on  the 
night  his  accident  occurred,  had  come  across  the 
case,  in  the  hands  of  one  of  his  cronies,  in  a  restau- 
rant. Reeves  had  opened  the  case,  and  been  startled 
by  a  name  inside  ;  his  friend  could  give  him  no  infor- 
mation about  this,  though  he  was  at  last  forced  to 
admit  he  had  seen  the  owner  leave  the  thing  on  the 
car-seat,  when  the  train  stopped. 

When  Carryl  tore  the  wrappings  away,  a  gentle- 
man's pocket  letter-case,  of  black  Russia  leather, 
came  to  light.  Among  the  silken  linings  was  a  soli- 
tary card  with  Carryl  Dacres'  name  and  their  old 
attic  address  in  a  large,  rapid  hand. 

How  it  came  there  was  a  baffling  mystery.  Dur- 
ing the  months  they  had  occupied  the  attic,  no- 
body—  not  one  of  Hallowell's  clerks  even  —  had 
known  their  address — cared  to  inquire  about  it. 
Yet  there  it  was,  in  those  hurried  pencil-marks ! 


A  BOSTON   GIEL'S   AMBITIONS.  283 

Who  wrote  it,  and  how  did  it  get  into  that  handsome 
case?" 

It  was  altogether  probable,  they  reasoned,  that 
Reeves  had  told  the  truth.  On  his  death-bed  at  the 
hospital,  he  could  have  no  motive  for  concealing  that 
from  his  wife ;  he  knew  Mrs.  Dacres'  maiden  name ; 
lie  would  feel  assured  the  one  on  the  card  was  that 
of  her  child ;  he  might  be  curious  about  the  fate  of 
those  he  had  wronged. 

But  this  left  the  mystery  still  unexplained.  For 
two  days  the  young  people  puzzled  over  it.  On  the 
evening  of  the  third  one,  Dorrice  said  to  her  brother, 
as  they  sat  together :  "  Such  a  curious  dream  as  I 
had  last  night !  It  has  not  seemed  like  a  dream  to- 
day." 

"What  was  it  about?"  asked  Carryl,  adjust- 
ing the  lamp-shade,  and  then,  taking  up  a  sheet  of 
paper,  he  began  to  draw  an  old,  leafless  and  scraggy- 
branched  apple-tree.  He  had  a  knack  at  light, 
sketchy  things  of  this  sort,  and  often  amused  himself 
with  them,  before  they  settled  down  to  the  evening's 
work. 

"  It  was  about  that  letter-case,"  continued  Dorrice. 
"  You  were  standing  by  the  side  of  a  young  man  on 
the  street.  There  was  nobody  else  in  sight.  He 
was  tall  and  slender,  but  his  face  was  quite  turned 
away  from  me.  He  was  writing  down  something. 
In  a  moment  I  knew  perfectly  it  was  your  name  he 
was  writing  on  that  card." 

Before  she  was  through,  Carryl's  pencil  came  to  a 
sudden  stop.  His  eyes  were  on  her  face ;  he  was 
drinking  in  every  syllable. 


284  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

When  she  paused,  he  brought  down  his  closed 
hand  on  the  table.  "  What  an  idiot  I  was  not  to 
remember  that ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Canyl?" 

"Do  you  remember  that  time  —  that  worst  of  all 
times  —  when  I  came  home  and  found  you  lying 
there,  that  I  told  you  he  had  asked  my  name,  and 
written  it  down. 

She  started,  stared  at  him  a  moment,  with  a  new 
consciousness  growing  in  her  face.  "I  remember," 
her  voice  was  keyed  almost  to  a  whisper.  "O-h, 
Carryl ! " 

"  It  must  have  been  the  very  card  he  wrote,"  he 
continued,  with  a  tone  of  absolute  conviction.  "  The 
other  things  drove  that  out  of  my  mind." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Then  the  light  bright- 
ened from  £ar,  dusky  depths  in  Dorrice's  eyes.  She 
lifted  her  head.  "  Carryl,"  she  said,  in  the  low,  quiet 
voice  of  conviction,  "  it  is  all  a  great  mystery  now, 
but  you  and  I  will  know  some  day." 

"  Why  do  you  feel  so  certain,  Dorrice  ?  It  is  a 
long  time  since  that  happened." 

"  I  know  it  is.  I  can't  explain  my  feeling  —  I  can't 
even  talk  about  it ;  but  it  is  there,  all  the  same." 

In  a  few  moments  she  spoke  again :  "  Carryl,  if 
you  should  see  that  young  man  after  all  these  years, 
do  you  think  you  would  know  him?" 

"  Think !  I  am  sure  of  it."  He  rose,  and  walked 
the  room  with  long,  nervous  strides.  "No  other 
human  being  could  have  just  that  smile.  He  treated 
me,"  he  went  on,  his  voice  a  good  deal  broken  with 
feeling,  "as  though  I  were  his  friend.  It  no  more 


A  BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  285 

hurt  my  self-respect  when  I  took  that  money  than  it 
would  if,  wrecked  out  on  the  wide  sea,  I  should  seize 
the  plank  some  man,  knowing  I  was  about  to  go 
under,  shot  out  to  me.  I  tell  you,  Dorrice,"  and  his 
black  eyes  fired,  "  I  would  go  round  this  planet  to 
find  that  grand  young  fellow,  and  take  his  hand 
again." 

"  It  is  very  curious,"  she  said,  after  another  pause, 
"  that  one  person  in  the  world  —  an  utter  stranger, 
too  —  should  know  all  about  that  darkest  day  in  our 
lives  —  the  day  we  can  never  speak  of,  even  to  dear 
Mrs.  Kent." 

She  took  the  card  out  of  the  case  once  more. 
Carryl  came  to  her  side,  and  looked  over  her  shoul- 
der; but  the  name  in  that  large,  rapid  hand  could 
tell  them  nothing  of  the  stranger  who,  long  ago,  had 
written  it  there. 


XXXVI. 

EVENTS  that  occurred  soon  after  that  memorable 
day  at  the  hospital  were  important  enough  to  draw 
the  young  people's  thoughts  into  other  channels. 

Carry  1  received  a  proposal  that,  under  different 
circumstances,  would  have  been  immensely  attractive 
to  him. 

One  of  his  classmates,  with  whom  he  had  made  the 
Adirondack  trip,  had  two  young  brothers  whom  their 
father  wished  to  send  abroad  for  a  year's  travel  with 
a  tutor.  The  youth  talked  up  Dacres  to  his  father 
—  satisfied  the  elder  man  that  he  would  be  the  best 
fellow  in  the  world  to  take  charge  of  those  rattle- 
brained boys  for  a  year's  travel  and  study  in  Europe. 

So  the  proposition  was  made  to  Carryl.  To  his 
young,  eager  manhood,  the  prospect  thus  opened  to 
him  —  the  new  life,  the  great  world  of  art,  of  fresh 
scenes,  of  novel  experiences  —  was  irresistibly  fas- 
cinating. The  teaching  to  which  he  had  made  up 
his  mind,  before  he  should  settle  down  to  his  profes- 
sional studies,  looked  like  horrible  drudgery  in  com- 
parison with  the  spacious  horizons  that  now  arched 
themselves,  mysterious,  alluring,  before  his  imagina- 
tion. 

But  there  was  Dorrice !  Could  he  leave  her  be- 
hind—  the  sister  who  had  been  so  much  to  "him? 

286 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  287 

Leave  her,  too,  just  after  they  had  been  through  their 
great  sorrow  together? 

"  I  should  be  the  biggest  brute  on  this  planet,  to 
think  of  doing  it,"  said  Carryl,  settling  his  jaws  to- 
gether in  a  way  that  gave  their  strong  lines  a  grim  look. 

When  Dorrice  heard  of  this  offer,  she  saw  at  once 
all  it  meant  for  her  brother.  She"  knew  perfectly  his 
old  passionate  longings  to  see  something  of  the  great 
world.  Had  they  not  often  quoted  to  themselves 
that  saying  of  Charles  Lamb's,  "  I  believe  I  should 
die  of  joy  to  set  foot  on  a  foreign  shore  "  ? 

Of  course,  they  had  had  their  dreams  of  going 
abroad  soms  day;  but  that  must  be  "when  they  got 
awfully  old,  and  had  lots  of  money,"  Dorrice  said; 
and  then  she  would  laughingly  tell  Carryl  that  their 
sight-seeing,  for  the  next  twenty  years,  must  be  lim- 
ited to  a  slice  of  New  England  sea-coast,  of  which 
they  must  make  the  most. 

But  at  this  time  the  brave  young  heart  faltered. 
It  had  had  much  to  bear  of  late  ;  she  could  not  brace 
it  to  the  thought  of  parting.  Her  gaze  went  wist- 
fully about  the  room.  "  This  offer  is  a  great  thing 
for  you,  Carryl,"  she  said.  "  You  ought  to  accept  it ; 
but  it  would  be  so  strange  here  all  alone — oh,  I  can- 
not bear  it !  I  cannot  bear  it !  "  She  burst  into  pas- 
sionate sobbing. 

It  was  so  unlike  her. 

Carryl  went  to  her.  "  You  silliest  of  girls  !  "  and 
he  lifted  the  drooping  head.  "  Why  don't  you  cry  be- 
cause I  am  going  to  set  off  on  a  trip  to  Saturn  ?  Did 
you  think  I  would  leave  you,  Dorrice  ?  " 

"But  I  ought  to  let  you,"  she  sobbed  again.     " It 


288  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

is  very  selfish  to  stand  in  your  light.     Think  of  what 
you  will  sacrifice  for  me  !  " 

"I  suppose  you  never  sacrificed  anything  for  me  ! 
But  all  our  talk  must  simply  come  down  to  this :  I 
shall  not  go  away  and  leave  you,  Dorrice,  for  a  sight 
of  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world." 

When  Mrs.  Kent  learned  what  offer  had  been 
made  to  Carryl,  she  felt  that  the  time  for  which  she 
once  told  herself  she  would  wait  had  come.  She 
suggested  that  he  should  go  abroad,  and  that  Dor- 
rice  should  stay  with  her  during  his  absence.  She 
needed  some  bright  young  presence  in  the  silent  old 
home.  Her  lips  shook,  and  a  mist  of  tears  darkened 
her  fine  eyes.  "  Why  could  not  Dorrice  come  to  her?" 
she  continued,  in  a  moment.  "She  needed  that 
young  strength,  those  bright  energies,  those  happy 
spirits,  under  her  own  roof,  among  her  outside  chari- 
ties. Would  not  Dorrice  take  pity  on  all  this  loneli- 
ness and  selfishness,  and  stay  with  her  for  a  year?  " 

Mrs.  Kent  said  all  this  to  the  young  people.  She 
said  a  great  deal  more  to  Carryl  when  he  and  she 
were  alone  together.  But  all  her  persuasive  argu- 
ments had  less  influence  than  the  simple  words,  "  If 
you  will  let  Dorrice  come  to  me,  Carryl,  I  will  try  to 
be  a  mother  to  her." 

This  proposal  set  the  matter  of  his  going  abroad 
in  an  entirely  new  light.  He  could  leave  his  sister 
with  perfect  content  under  Mrs.  Kent's  roof.  It 
would  be  like  going  home,  to  her.  The  house  in 
West  Newton  was  the  loveliest  place  in  the  world  to 
Dorrice  Dacres. 

There  were  two  or  three  days  of  indecision ;  but 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  289 

at  last  it  was  settled  that  Carryl  should  go  abroad, 
and  that  Dorrice  should  leave  Pinckney  Street  for 
the  love  and  care  that  awaited  her  with  Mrs  Kent. 

Busy  days  followed.  Carryl  and  Dorrice  were 
deeply  immersed  in  the  present  and  its  practical  de- 
mands, in  packing  and  storing  of  household  fur- 
nishings, —  their  Lares  and  Penates,  as  they  called 
these,  —  and  in  the  changes  and  preparations  for  new 
scenes  and  lives. 

Mrs.  Kent  and  Mrs.  Hallowell  accompanied  Dor- 
rice  to  her  brother's  Class  Day.  It  was  the  proudest 
one  of  the  girl's  life.  It  could  not  fail  to  bring  back 
that  other  Class  Day,  three  years  ago,  which  had 
proved  such  a  turning-point  in  their  lives.  But  this 
time  it  was  not  the  gay  scene,  the  picturesque  crowds, 
the  dazzling  color,  the  young  life  and  joy,  that  made 
Dorrice  Dacres'  radiant  happiness ;  it  was  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  brother's  share  in  all  that  was  best 
and  noblest  of  that  day. 

Carryl  came  to  his  sister  late  in  the  afternoon, 
when  the  merry  scrambling  for  the  flowers  on  the  old, 
garlanded  elm  was  over,  and,  looking  in  the  proud 
young  face  with  his  dark,  glad  eyes,  he  said  softly, 
so  that  no  one  but  herself  should  hear,  "  If  it  had  not 
been  for  you,  Dorrice,  I  never  should  have  seen  this 
day!" 

That  was  the  crowning  moment. 

Before  Class  Day,  the  home  on  Pinckney  Street, 
where  they  had  spent  six  years,  was  given  up. 

Less  than  a  week  after  he  graduated,  Carryl 
Dacres  left  his  sister  with  Mrs.  Kent,  and  sailed  with 
his  boy  companions  for  Europe. 


XXXVII. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  Dorrice  Dacres  first 
came  to  live  with  Mrs.  Kent.  Carryl  had  been  home 
less  than  two  months.  The  European  tour  had 
proved  too  extensive  to  be  carried  out  in  a  single 
year.  To  the  immense  delight  of  his  pupils,  their 
father  had  urged  Carryl  to  prolong  the  time  abroad; 
so  they  had  a  winter  in  southern  Europe,  with  some 
weeks  in  the  spring  for  Greece,  and  the  last  three 
months  in  England,  during  which  they  made  trips 
into  Wales  and  among  the  Scotch  Highlands. 

The  refined,  restful  home-atmosphere  was  precisely 
what  Dorrice  needed  at  the  time  she  entered  it.  The 
youth  that  had  girded  itself  to  such  high  tasks,  such 
noble  ambitions,  had  begun  to  show  signs  of  falter- 
ing. Dorrice,  happily,  was  unconscious  of  this ;  but 
Mrs.  Kent  could  not  be  deceived.  Now  the  burdens 
were  lifted,  the  responsibilities  lightened,  Dorrice, 
charged  as  every  nerve  of  her  soul,  every  fibre  of 
her  body,  was  with  bounding  vitality,  lapsed  for  a 
while  into  a  most  uncharacteristic  inertia.  She  did 
not  perceive  that  this  was  the  natural  reaction  of 
years  of  inveterate  activity.  The  collapse  would 
have  been  far  more  serious  in  a  less  healthful  organi- 
zation ;  but  for  several  months  Dorrice  found  herself 

290 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  291 

indisposed  for  any  sustained  exertion.  She  often 
told  Mrs.  Kent  that  she  was  spoiling  her,  that  she 
was  rapidly  becoming  the  most  useless  entity  on  the 
planet. 

Mrs.  Kent  had  her  reply  ready  :  "You  had  to  come 
to  me,  Dorrice,  to  learn  there  was  a  time  for  lying 
still  in  all  human  lives.  We  were  not  originally  de- 
signed to  be  forever  up  and  doing." 

The  girl,  all  this  time,  had  a  lurking  fancy  that  it 
was  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  which  had  thrown 
its  delicious,  enervating  spell  about  her. 

It  is  always  a  dangerous  experiment  for  two  peo- 
ple, who  have  known  each  other  only  a  short  period, 
to  attempt  living  together.  Time,  however,  proved 
that  the  elder  and  the  younger  woman  could  undergo 
all  the  "  crucial  tests  of  daily  intercourse  "  without 
any  secret  friction.  Mrs.  Kent  had  the  respect  of  a 
large  and  generous  nature  for  another's  individuali- 
ties of  temperament  and  opinion.  There  was,  be- 
tween the  two,  none  of  that  jarring  of  tastes  and 
instincts  which  so  often  seriously  mars  the  relations 
of  people  who  are  really  fond  of  each  other.  Dor- 
rice  believed  there  was  no  other  woman  in  the  world 
like  Mrs.  Kent,  and  the  latter  was  satisfied  there  was 
not  another  young  girl  in  all  her  wide  acquaintance 
who  could  have  been  to  her  heart  and  home  what 
Dorrice  Dacres  was. 

Her  life  had,  of  course,  widened  in  many  direc- 
tions since  she  came  to  West  Newton.  A  large  and 
agreeable  social  world  had  opened  to  her.  She  had 
many  pleasant  companions  among  her  own  sex,  many 
admirers  among  the  other.  Some  of  these  had  made 


292  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

efforts  to  be  more ;  but  Dorrice's  heart  was  as  kind 

and  calm  as  Portia's  was  to  her  lovers  —  before  Bas- 

.  i. 

sanio  came. 

She  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that  her  services 
were  of  value  in  many  ways  to  Mrs.  Kent,  so  that  no 
sense  of  dependence  could  chafe  her  high  spirit ;  but 
the  affection  between  the  two  soon  became  one  in 
which  a  thought  of  dependence  would  have  appeared 
to  either  a  wrong  to  the  other. 

One  evening,  at  the  end  of  May,  a  young  man 
walked  up  through  the  grounds  to  Mrs.  Kent's  front 
door.  It  was  a  warm,  still,  moonlit  night.  The  air 
was  full  of  subtle  fragrances  of  fresh  leaves  and  buds 
and  blossoming  things.  The  stranger  looked  about 
him  with  alert  interest,  as  though  the  black  clumps 
of  shrubbery,  the  dark  line  of  hedge,  and  the  flower- 
beds, strongly  outlined  against  the  moonlight,  were 
familiar  to  him. 

The  young  man  was  tall,  of  a  strong,  firm,  harmo- 
nious build.  The  modelling  of  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders would  have  been  likely  to  strike  a  sculptor. 
"Indeed,  he  was  one  of  the  people  at  whom,  if  you 
glanced  once,  you  would  probably  have  turned  and 
looked  a  second  and  longer  time. 

At  the  door  there  was  a  little  talk.  The  stranger 
learned  that  Mrs.  Kent  was  absent,  but  might  return 
at  any  moment.  After  an  instant's  hesitation,  he 
concluded  to  go  in  and  wait  for  her. 

He  was  shown  into  the  large,  dimly  lighted  sitting- 
room.  The  sight  of  it  revived  a  thousand  memories 
of  his  boyhood.  The  room  seemed  to  have  kept  that 
serene,  reposeful  air  through  all  the  changeful, 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  293 

crowded  years,  just  as  some  old  drawers  keep  the 
faint  scent  of  roses  that  have  long  turned  to  ashes. 
He  took  a  seat  in  the  deep  bay-window,  and  looked 
out  on  the  lawn,  dreaming  in  the  moonlight,  and 
flecked  with  brown,  motionless  shadows. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  voice  singing  in  the  other 
room.  It  was  not  a  voice  of  large  compass ;  but  it 
had  a  wonderfully  clear,  bright  quality.  It  made 
him  think  of  a  reach  of  sunny  brook,  rippling  and 
glancing  in  the  light.  Yet  the  song  was  not  bright. 
It  held  the  pathos  of  a  life's  hidden  loss  and  grief; 
for  it  was  "  Auld  Robin  Gray." 

The  singing  ceased  suddenly.  There  was  a  brief 
murmur  of  voices ;  then  light  footsteps  approached 
the  room.  There  was  a  soft  glimmer  of  woman's 
garments  in  the  dcrorway,  a  moment's  pause  and 
glancing  about  the  room,  then  a  tall,  graceful  figure 
came  swiftly  toward  the  stranger.  "  Oh,  Carryl,  you 
dear  boy,"  exclaimed  a  voice  which  must  have  been 
a  pleasant  sound  in  the  ears  for  whom  its  sweet, 
eager  welcome  was  meant.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you  at  last !  I  had  quite  given  you  up  for  to-night. 
You  must  have  a  good  excuse  for  not  coming  out  to 
lunch  as  you  promised." 

She  came  close  to  the  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the 
window;  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  stranger's  arm. 

It  was  awkward  for  him,  but  he  rose  on  the  in- 
stant. "I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,"  he 
said ;  "  I  am  waiting  to  see  Mrs.  Kent." 

There  was  a  swift  start,  a  half  suppressed  exclama- 
tion;  but  she  did  not  lose  her  presence  of  mind;  she 
stepped  back  to  the  table,  turned  on  the  low-burning 


294  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

gas,  and,  as  its  light  streamed  over  the  room,  it 
caught  the  fine  oval  of  her  face ;  she  saw  the  tall, 
blond,  tawny-bearded  stranger.  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  unlike  her  dark-eyed,  serious-faced 
brother.  He  stepped  forward  and  presented  his 
card.  Dorrice  read  the  name  there  with  a  glance  :  — 
Raymond  Gathorpe. 

She  turned  toward  him  at  once,  with  a  swift 
transition  of  manner.  "  Oh,  3res,"  she  said,  cordially, 
"I  have  heard  Mrs.  Kent  speak  of  you,  Mr.  Ga- 
thorpe. She  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  am  ex- 
pecting her  every  moment." 

It  appeared  that  the  maid,  who  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  stranger  in  the  hall,  had  taken 'for 
granted  that  he  was  Dorrice's  brother;  hence,  the 
mistake  that  followed. 

"  I  am  Miss  Dacres,"  she  explained  now.  "  It 
was  very  curious  that  I  should  have  mistaken  you 
for  my  brother,"  a  glint  of  amused  smile  about  the 
corners  of  her  mouth,  as  she  recalled  the  effusive 
greeting  which  she  had  bestowed  on  the  distin- 
guished-looking guest.  "Will  you  sit  down  again, 
Mr.  Gathorpe?  I  am  certain  Mrs.  Kent  will  be 
greatly  disappointed  if  she  does  not  see  you." 

Dorrice  Dacres  was  dressed  all  in  gray  this  even- 
ing. It  was  a  color  she  was  much  in  the  habit  of 
wearing.  Mrs.  Kent  liked  her  better  in  this  than  in 
anything  else.  She  used,  half  playfully,  to  call  her 
"  My  little  girl  whom  I  found  in  gray." 

Carryl,  too,  whose  salary,  during  his  absence,  had 
admitted  of  his  furnishing  his  sister's  wardrobe, 
without  serious  inconvenience  to  himself,  —  an  ar- 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  295 

rangement  to  which  Mrs.  Kent  did  not  venture  to 
demur,  —  liked  best  to  see  his  sister  in  neutral  tints, 
because  his  mother  had  worn  them. 

She  had  on,  this  evening,  a  dress  of  some  fine  wool 
fabric,  that  hung  in  soft,  clinging  folds  about  her 
long  slenderness.  She  had  fastened  a  cactus  blossom 
at  her  throat.  The  deep  red  glowed  like  some  great 
burning  jewel  against  that  nun-like  gray.  The  soli- 
tary touch  of  brilliant  color  imparted  warmth  and 
character  to  the  dress. 

The  two  sat  down,  and  some  talk  —  mostly  ques- 
tions about  Mrs.  Kent,  on  the  guest's  part,  and 
answers,  on  Dorrice's  —  followed.  Young  Gathorpe 
wondered  if  she  were  a  distant  connection  of  his 
friend's.  She  must  have  been  a  guest  for  some  time, 
with  that  subtle,  unconscious  air  of  being  at  home 
amid  the  surroundings. 

In  his  long  travels  about  the  world,  Ray  Gathorpe 
had  made  a  wide  acquaintance  with  women ;  he  was 
accustomed  to  form  rapid  opinions  regarding  them. 

Almost  the  first  thing  that  struck  him  about  this 
one,  as  was  usually  the  case  with  strangers,  was  her 
eyes.  These  were  truly  "the  life  and  soul  of  her 
face."  But  he  was  aware,  too,  that  she  was  of  rather 
tall  and  slender  height,  —  that  hair  of  an  auburn 
shade,  with  a  glimmer  of  gold,  made  a  glory  about 
her  head.  He  was  aware,  too,  of  a  clear,  healthy 
olive  skin  of  a  kind  that  never  has  much  color,  except 
under  strong  excitement ;  of  a  straight  line  of  nose, 
and  a  firmly  cut  chin,  that  curved  down  in  perfect 
lines  to  the  white  young  throat. 

Dorrice,  on  her  part,  while  she  answered  his  ques- 


296  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIONS. 

tions  with  an  accent  and  a  simple  directness  that 
struck  him  agreeably,  was  regarding  Mrs.  Kent's 
friend  with  interest.  She  observed  the  modelling  of 
his  head.  There  was  something  rather  grand  about 
it,  she  thought.  The  strong  character  of  his  features 
struck  her,  and  so  did  the  fine  frank  expression  of 
his  eyes,  when  the  light  flashed  into  them. 

She  was  very  gracious,  but  perhaps  the  little 
native  touch  of  dignity  in  her  manner  was  slightly 
accented,  because  of  the  absurd  mistake  she  had 
made  at  the  beginning.  She  would  not  let  such  a 
trifle  annoy  her,  but  she  would  rather  it  had  not 
happened. 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes  Mrs.  Kent  appeared. 
As  she  entered  the  room,  Ray  came  forward  to  meet 
her.  "  Do  you  know  me  ?  "  he  asked,  putting  out 
both  hands. 

With  a  second  glance  she  broke  out  in  a  tone 
thrilled  with  the  gladdest  surprise  :  "  Ray  Gathorpe  ! 
Oh,  my  dear  boy  ! "  He  bent  his  head,  and  they 
kissed  each  other. 

"  I  have  wondered  you  did  not  come  to  me  at 
once,  Ray,"  said  Mrs.  Kent,  after  the  first  greetings 
were  over. 

"  I  wanted  to  ;  but  all  sorts  of  things  have  been 
absorbing  my  time  and  attention.  I  couldn't  get 
two  hours  to  spare  from  any  day,  and  I  wasn't  going 
to  rush  out  on  you  with  less  than  that,  after  three 
years'  absence." 

"  '  Less '  would  certainly  have  been  an  aggravation. 
But  you  cannot  be  talking  seriously  of  three  years  !  " 

"It  doesn't  seem  so,  now  I  am  looking   at  you. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  297 

But  my  last  stay  abroad  was  nearly  three  times  as 
long  as  I  intended.  There  was  no  help  for  it. 
Affairs  had  to  be  settled  on  a  solid  basis,  or  I  should 
find  myself  forced  to  turn  nomad  again  in  a  little 
while.  I  had  no  fancy  for  that,  so  I  stayed  away; 
and,  now  I  am  back  once  more,  it  is  with  a  grim  res- 
olution not  to  set  foot  off  my  native  soil  again." 

Mrs.  Kent  laughed :  "  After  all  they  haven't 
spoiled  you ! " 

"Did  you  fear  that?" 

Dorrice  did  not  hear  Mrs.  Kent's  reply.  At  this 
point  she  slipped  softly  and  unobserved  from  the 
room. 

When  she  reached  her  chamber,  she  saw  the  moon- 
beams on  the  floor;  and  the  shadows  from  the  leaves 
and  boughs  of  the  ancient  pear-tree  mingled  with 
the  light,  and  made  strange,  fantastic  patterns  of 
silver  and  sable. 

She  walked  about  the  room,  a  slender,  noiseless 
figure  in  gray,  that  gleamed  against  the  windows,  as 
she  passed  back  and  forth.  She  could  not  settle  her- 
self down  to  a  book,  even,  on  such  a  wonderful  night. 
She  thought  about  the  guest  she  had  left  with  Mrs. 
Kent.  She  laughed  in  a  low,  amused  way  as  she 
fancied  the  fun  Carry  1  would  have  over  her  meeting 
this  young  Gathorpe  in  such  a  demonstrative  fash- 
ion. 

Then  she  began  to  wonder  if  he  was  handsome, 
and,  afterward,  rather  resented  the  question,  because 
he  was  something  more  and  nobler  than  that.  She 
could  not  think  of  any  adjective  that  precisely  de- 
scribed him.  It  appeared  to  her  there  was  a  subtle 


298  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS. 

something  which  differentiated  him  from  all  the 
young  men  she  had  known.  Was  it  a  certain 
quiet  air  of  distinction?  But  here  again  she  was 
baffled.  The  "  difference  "  certainly  seemed  some- 
thing finer  and  deeper  than  one  of  manner. 

At  last  the  gray-robed  figure,  that  had  been  gleam- 
ing back  and  forth  among  the  shadows  and  the 
moonlight,  came  to  a  pause  before  the  window. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  night?  It  was  the  last  one  of 
the  May.  Was  it  listening,  through  all  its  lovely 
shining  and  stillness,  for  the  summer?  How  sweet 
was  its  breath  of  buds  and  leaves  and  all  earliest 
blossoming  things !  Sometimes  she  caught  a  whiff 
of  syringas  and  lilacs.  It  carried  her  back  to  the  old 
front-yard  at  Foxlow.  How  long  ago  it  was  since 
she  and  Carryl  had  played  there  with  those  dear, 
dead  eyes  watching  them  in  the  door-wa}^ !  Did 
their  father  and  mother  know  now  how  all  the  mys- 
tery and  pain  had  vanished,  and  how  their  boy  and 
girl  had  come  into  lives  full  of  blessedness?  It  ap- 
peared like  a  miracle,  when  she  looked  back  on  that 
first  year  in  Boston.  And  this  night  was  another 
miracle,  coming  out  of  the  fierce  storms  of  the 
winter,  the  long,  dark  rains  of  the  spring!  How 
beautiful  the  world  was  !  How  dear  and  full  was 
life! 

The  great,  solemn -faced  moon  looked  on  her 
through  the  twisted  boughs  and  tremulous  leaves  of 
the  gnarled  pear-tree.  She  sat  down,  at  last,  on  a  low 
seat  by  the  window,  and  leaned  her  head  forward  on 
the  sill.  Bits  of  moonlight  glimmered  about  the 
small,  dark  head.  She  heard  a  hum  of  voices 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  299 

below,  and  occasionally  a  man's  full,  deep-chested 
laugh.  But  at  last  the  sounds  grew  faint,  as  did  the 
scent  of  the  syringas.  When  she  awoke  she  would 
be  provoked  at  herself  for  going  to  sleep  with  her 
head  on  the  window-sill. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Kent  and  Ray  Gathorpe  were 
having  the  talk  of  friends  long  separate,  but  with 
whom  the  old  associations  and  interests  have  sur- 
vived. 

"How  much  you  are  getting  to  resemble  your 
uncle,  Ray  !  "  said  Mrs.  Kent,  with  her  eyes  riveted 
to  his  face.  She  had  known  Kenneth  Gathorpe  from 
her  childhood.  She  had  always  been  very  fond  of 
him.  She  had  also  been  intimate  with  Ray's  mother, 
so  their  talk  went  back  and  forth  from  the  present 
to  the  past. 

"  You  couldn't  say  anything  which  would  give  me 
so  much  pleasure!"  he  replied.  "It  is  the  highest 
aim  of  my  life  that  the  resemblance  shall  be  deeper 
than  one  of  appearance.  Of  course  I  shall  fall 
immeasurably  below  my  prototype.  But  it  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  known  such  a  man  as  my  uncle  Ken. 
The  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  see  how  grand  he  was 
-  how  large  —  how  many-sided.  That  was  the 
reason,  I  suppose,  that  everything  seemed  to  have 
fallen  to  pieces  when  he  left  me.  I  had  a  feeling 
that  the  world,  or  at  least  my  share  in  it,  had  come  to 
a  permanent  stop  !  " 

Perhaps  there  was  nobody  in  the  world  but  Mrs. 
Kent  to  whom  Ray  could  have  talked  of  his  uncle 
in  just  this  way. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.     "  I  know  how  it 


300  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

seemed,  Ray,"  she  said,  and  her  lips  trembled.  After 
a  little  silence,  she  continued :  "  It  was  the  best 
possible  thing  that  you  went  abroad  at  once." 

"  Yes;  that  was  his  wish,  else  I  never  could  have 
roused  myself  to  it  at  that  time.  But  the  change  of 
scene  and  life  had  precisely  the  effect  he  foresaw." 

"  You  were  away,  that  first  time,  more  than  two 
years,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Yes;  I  made  my  trip  around  the  world,  expecting, 
when  I  returned  to  Bylanes,  to  settle  down,  like  old 
Dogberry,  'a  rich  fellow  enough.'  But  affairs  took  me 
off  again,  in  little  more  than  a  year.  You  see,  there 
were  large  interests  to  settle,  and  much  foreign 
property  to  dispose  of.  Things  move  slowly,  and 
with  an  immense  amount  of  red  tape,  the  other  side 
of  the  Atlantic.  As  time  went  on,  I  used  to  chafe 
horribly  under  the  delays.  But  I  couldn't  turn  my 
back  on  things  that  required  my  presence  —  at  least, 
I  couldn't  with  a  clear  conscience,  and  the  other 
kind,"  his  humorous  smile  broke  into  his  eyes,  "isn't 
a  pleasant  companion  for  a  fellow." 

"Certainly  not,  if  he  happens  to  be  of  the  Gathorpe 
strain!  It  does  me  good  to  find  you  are  back  at 
Bylanes,  and  such  a  true  son  of  the  soil,  Ray." 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  now,  in  a  tone  half  gay,  half 
serious,  "  I  have  a  tolerably  big  slice  of  the  planet 
for  my  share.  But  that  means  a  big  responsibility 
—  too.  If  he  who  left  it  in  sacred  trust  to  me  had 
been  another  sort  of  man,  I  might  have  a  different 
feeling  about  the  property;  though,  in  any  case,  I 
should  probably  have  the  grace  to  reflect  that  I 
owed  something  to  the  world,  besides  living  in  it  the 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  301 

'  life  of  an  animal  of  large  and  varied  consumption  ! ' 
That  really  appears  to  be  the  aim  —  get  to  the  heart 
of  the  matter  —  of  most  of  the  young  fellows  who 
have  inherited  fortunes.  The  best  of  them  wouldn't 
be  quite  prepared  to  admit  this,  but  it  is  what  their 
living  amounts  to.  With  a  tolerably  large  field  for 
observation,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this 
being  born  into  a  big  fortune  means,  as  a  rule,  being 
cursed  with  a  dry-rot  of  selfishness !  " 

"  That  sounds  like  one  of  your  uncle's  speeches, 
Ray.  And  I  hear  that  Bylanes,  and  all  it  includes, 
means  a  very  big  fortune." 

"  You  probably  hear  it  exaggerated.  Still,  I  may 
own  to  you  that  the  property  my  uncle  left  would 
to-day  exceed,  rather  than  fall  short  of,  six  mil- 
lions." 

"  So  much  as  that !  No ;  the  world  hasn't  exag- 
gerated this  time." 

"  It  is  a  heavy  responsibility  for  a  fellow  to  carry 
who  is  perfectly  conscious  he  will  have  shirked  his 
trust,  if  he  doesn't  make  the  world  a  little  better  and 
happier  because  he  had  the  good  or  ill  luck  to  be 
born  heir  to  all  this  wealth.  If  Uncle  Ken  had 
believed  I  would  feel  otherwise,  he  would  never 
have  made  me  his  heir." 

There  was  a  great  gladness  in  Mrs.  Kent's  heart. 
She  laid  her  hand  on  the  young  man's  arm.  "  Ray," 
her  soft,  solemn  tones  sounded  like  a  benediction, 
"  your  uncle  was  right  when  he  trusted  you  with  this 
money." 

A  little  later  the  talk  ran  in  a  lighter  key.  Mrs. 
Kent  was  asking  gayly :  "  Can  this  big,  blond 


302  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

fellow,  with  the  tawny  beard,  be  the  little  boy  I 
remember,  who  used  to  come  here  and  eat  my  plum 
cake ! " 

Ray  laughed.  It  was  that  laugh  which  Dorrice 
heard,  sitting  upstairs  by  the  window.  "  I  have 
eaten  in  tents  of  the  desert,"  he  said,  "  in  the  palaces 
of  princes,  and  in  old,  stately,  Gothic  banqueting- 
halls ;  but  I  give  you  my  word,  nothing  ever  had 
quite  the  relish  of  your  plum  cake  and  ymr 
damson  preserves." 

"  You  shall  have  them  every  time  you  come  out 
to  see  me,  Ray  !  " 

"  Thank  you.  That  promise  ought  to  make  a  boy 
of  me,  if  the  sight  of  you  hadn't  done  so  already." 
He  rose  now,  came  to  her  chair,  and,  bending  his  tall 
height  over  her,  said :  "  May  I  tell  you  the  truth, 
when,  spoken  to  somebody  else,  it  would  sound  like 
a  man's  flattery  ?  " 

"  What  woman  could  make  but  one  answer  to  that 
speech,  Ray  Gathorpe  ?  " 

"  As  I  remember  you,  and  as  I  look  at  you  to-night, 
it  seems  as  though  each  year  had  only  touched  you 
with  some  finer  grace." 

"Ah,  Ray,  you  ought  to  keep  that  pretty  speech 
for  your  wife,  when  she  begins  to  grow  old,  and 
looks  in  the  glass,  and  sees  her  graying  hair." 

A  moment  later,  he  was  going  about  the  room, 
looking  into  the  nooks  and  corners,  and  at  the 
furnishings  and  pictures.  "  After  all  my  tumblings 
about  the  world,"  he  said,  "  it  is  pleasant  to  find  a 
room  that  has  kept  the  old  familiar  look  and  atmos- 
phere." 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  303 

"You  must  have  plenty  of  such  rooms  at  By- 
lanes." 

Ray  sat  down  by  his  hostess  again.  "  The  rooms 
are  there,"  he  replied,  "  but  something  that  made 
my  boyhood's  Bylanes  went  out  of  it,  seven  years 
ago."  ' 

At  the  last,  Mrs.  Kent  talked  of  herself,  and  of 
various  happenings  in  her  life.  She  spoke  of  the 
young  lady  who  was  living  with  her. 

"  I  must  have  met  her  when  I  first  came  in,"  said 
Ray. 

"  Her  name  is  Dorrice  Dacres.  She  has  been  with 
me  two  years.  I  cannot  tell  you,  Ray,  what  she  has 
been  to  my  heart  —  in  my  home.  She  —  she  reminds 
me  of  my  dead  Alice." 

Ray  knew  what  that  must  mean.  The  boy  and 
girl  had  spent  many  happy  hours  together,  at  her 
home  and  at  Bylanes. 

A  few  facts  of  Dorrice's  history  followed.  Ray 
learned  that  she  was  an  orphan,  with  no  relative  in 
the  world  but  a  brother,  who,  immediately  after  his 
graduation  at  college,  had  gone  abroad  for  nearly 
two  years. 

He  had  returned  home  in  the  spring,  and,  a  few 
weeks  ago,  entered  the  Harvard  Law  School.  Mrs. 
Kent  spoke  of  him  as  a  noble  fellow.  His  name  was 
Carryl  Dacres. 

Ray  looked  at  his  watch  and  rose ;  he  had  barely 
time  to  reach  the  train. 

"You  will  not  think  of  going  in  town  to-night!" 
remonstrated  Mrs.  Kent. 

But   he    had   engaged    to   meet   a    friend   in   the 


304  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

morning.  He  promised  to  be  out  soon  again,  and 
his  adieux  had  to  be  made  in  a  hurry. 

Dorrice  roused  herself  at  last.  She  was  much 
surprised  to  perceive  the  fashion  in  which  she  had 
fallen  asleep.  She  groped  her  way  to  the  clock  on 
the  mantel,  and  read  the  time  by  a  moonbeam. 

While  she  had  been  sleeping,  the  May,  robed  in 
green  and  white-veiled  in  moonlight,  had  glided  into 
the  embrace  of  June ;  and  in  the  old  pear-tree  the 
birds  would  soon  be  welcoming  the  first  dawn  of 
another  summer. 


XXXVIII. 

ONE  afternoon  during  the  week  following  young 
Gathorpe's  visit,  Mrs.  Kent  and  her  young  friends 
were  together.  The  day  had  been  oppressively 
warm,  though,  just  now,  little  wafts  of  cool  west 
wind  came  through  open  doors  and  windows. 

Carryl  Dacres  had  returned  a  good  deal  bronzed, 
and  some  inches  broader-chested.  These  were  about 
all  the  surface  changes  Dorrice  had  been  able  to 
detect  in  him  ;  but  she  was  conscious  of  subtler  ones. 
He  had  come  back  to  her  in  splendid  health  and 
courage,  equipped,  as  he  assured  her,  for  any  tussle 
with  fortune.  The  two  years'  travel  and  varied 
experience  had  widened  the  horizon  of  his  thoughts 
and  sympathies.  They  had  modified  some  of  his 
convictions,  and  settled  others  more  firmly.  His 
imagination  and  all  his  artistic  tastes  had  been 
awakened  and  stimulated,  and  he  had  gained  a 
better  estimate  and  a  stronger  grasp  of  his  intel- 
lectual powers.  Long  before  he  sailed,  he  had 
settled  with  himself  the  paramount  question  of  his 
profession,  and,  having  made  the  most  of  his  oppor- 
tunities abroad,  he  was,  on  his  return,  like  an  ath- 
lete, eager  for  the  race.  He  was  no  longer  handi- 
capped in  the  struggle.  The  problem  of  ways  and 

305 


306  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

means  was  a  light  one,  when  it  came  to  facing  it  for 
himself  alone.  He  had  friends,  now,  who  would 
supply  him  with  all  the  coaching  he  could  attend  to. 
As  for  Dorrice,  it  would  have  been  a  cruel  ingrati- 
tude to  Mrs.  Kent  to  suggest  their  resuming  the  old 
housekeeping,  as  had  been  tacitly  taken  for  granted 
on  their  part,  when  he  went  abroad ;  so  the  subject 
was  not  even  broached. 

Of  course  the  cottage  at  West  Newton  was,  what 
Mrs.  Kent  insisted  it  should  be,  a  home  to  Carryl. 
After  this  long  separation,  Dorrice  claimed  every 
instant  of  the  time  he  could  spare  from  his  studies 
and  work.  The  changes  which  the  two  years  had 
wrought  in  her  were  more  apparent  —  at  least  on 
the  outside  —  than  those  in  himself.  Her  beauty 
had  the  power  of  a  fresh  surprise  to  him  ;  her  fine 
organization  had  long  ago  surmounted  the  effects  of 
the  strain  it  had  undergone  ;  and  during  her  brother's 
absence,  and  amid  her  happy  surroundings,  she  had 
opened,  naturally  as  a  flower  opens,  into  the  fragrance 
and  perfection  of  young  womanhood;  her  presence 
radiated  life  and  brightness.  Carryl  was  ready  to 
give  Mrs.  Kent  ample  credit  for  all  the  lovely 
changes  he  saw  in  his  sister.  He  was  certain  no 
other  woman  could  have  been  to  Dorrice  what  she 
had. 

This  afternoon  he  had  been  amusing  the  ladies 
with  some  incidents  he  had  witnessed  among  the 
mountains  and  people  of  Wales.  He  had  not  written 
about  these  adventures  to  his  sister,  because  he  felt 
that  tones  and  dramatic  action  could  only  do  justice 
to  the  comical  side. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  307 

The  dark,  slender,  supple-framed  young  man,  with 
his  serious  black  eyes,  moved  much  about  the  room, 
with  his  old  restless  habit,  while  he  talked.  Dorrice's 
eyes  followed  him  with  proud  content.  She  wore, 
this  afternoon,  a  white  dress,  with  a  wide  lace  scarf 
at  her  throat.  In  its  folds  she  had  fastened  a  little 
bunch  of  forget-me-nots.  Carryl,  she  knew,  always 
liked  to  have  flowers  about  her. 

"  How  lovely  the  child  is  looking  to-day,"  Mrs. 
Kent  thought. 

Carryl  stopped  suddenly  in  his  walk,  and  threw 
himself  down  on  the  lounge  by  his  sister.  "Dor- 
rice,"  he  said,  "  can  you  imagine  whom  I  went  to  see 
yesterday  —  had  a  long  talk  with,  indeed?" 

"It  is  too  warm  for  my  wits  to  attempt  any 
guesses.  Tell  me,  Carryl !  " 

"  It  was  Hallowell.  I  had  a  curious  feeling,  after 
I  had  stepped  into  the  office,  that  I  ought  to  go 
straight  to  my  old  desk,  and  told  him  so." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  that  ?  " 

" '  If  you  had  kept  to  the  desk,  Dacres,  you  would 
have  been  far  on  the  road  to  becoming  a  rich  man  by 
this  time.' 

"  I  agreed  with  him  that  I  should  probably  have 
had  more  money ;  but  I  spoiled  that  by  adding  that 
I  had  never  seen  a  moment  when  I  regretted  my 
decision.  He  was  most  friendly  —  interested  to  learn 
all  about  my  prospects.  In  the  course  of  the  talk 
he  admitted  that  things  had  turned  out  better  with 
me  than  he  supposed  possible,  when  I  threw  up  my 
chances  with  the  house.  I,  in  turn,  acknowledged 
Miat,  viewed  from  his  standpoint,  my  course  must 


308  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

have  appeared  to  him  little  short  of  insanity,  and  a 
piece  of  ingratitude  to  boot. 

"'Well,'  he  said,  'nobody  will  be  more  heartily 
glad  of  your  success,  Dacres,  than  I.  So  you  are 
going  into  the  law?' 

"That  fact  seemed  to  make  a  good  impression. 
While  we  were  talking,  a  sentence  I  read  somewhere, 
long  ago,  came  up:  'Every  man's  aim  must  either 
be  riches  or  something  better  than  riches.'  I  could 
not  doubt  that,  for  myself,  I  had  chosen  the  some- 
thing better." 

"  But  you  did  not  tell  him  so  ?  "  interposed  Dor- 
rice. 

"  Oh,  no  !  It  would  have  been  worse  than  gratui- 
tous at  that  time,  in  that  place.  By  the  bye,  he  had 
some  things  to  say  about  you,  which  I  also  think  it 
wise  not  to  repeat.  Even  her  sensible  little  head 
came  near  being  turned,  long  ago,  by  some  stuff 
which  I  had  overheard,  and  was  simple  enough  to 
retail  to  her." 

This  last  remark  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Kent. 

"  When  was  that  ? "  asked  Dorrice,  with  an 
amused  glance. 

"Have  you  forgotten,  Portia?  It  was  the  even- 
ing of  our  first  Class  Day,  when  I  told  you  about  the 
talk  at  Holworthy." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  think  you  are  right,  Carryl.  My  head 
was  a  little  turned  for  two  or  three  days  that  fol- 
lowed, and  then  — "  she  paused  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  tender  seriousness  in  her  eyes. 

"Well,  go  on." 

"You  read  Emerson  to  me  one  night,  and  after- 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  309 

ward  I  had  something  to  think  about  which  put  all 
your  seniors  into  the  background." 

Canyl  caught  her  meaning.  "  So  it  was  getting 
me  into  college  which  cured  you  of  your  sole  attack 
of  feminine  vanity ! "  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  tried 
to  be  gay.  "  Mrs.  Kent,  I  am  hugely  compunctious ! 
What  an  ungrateful  rascal  I  must  have  been  not  to 
suspect  all  this  !  " 

When  he  took  that  tone,  Dorrice  was  sure  to  come 
to  the  rescue.  "  You  foolish  boy !  As  though  it 
wasn't  lucky  for  me  that  I  got  rid  of  that  'peacock 
vein,'  before  it  had  spoiled  me." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  An  instant  later, 
Mrs.  Kent  rose  to  receive  Ray  Gathorpe. 

It  was  now  more  than  seven  years  since  the  two 
young  men  who  were  meeting  in  Mrs.  Kent's  cool, 
shaded  sitting-room  had  seen  each  other  for  a  few 
brief,  agitated  moments,  and  then  gone  their  differ- 
ent ways. 

The  tall,  blond,  tawny-bearded  stranger  was  not 
likely  to  suggest  the  slender  youth,  just  out  of  col- 
lege, to  one  who  had  seen  him  but  a  single  time. 

But  the  change  in  Carryl  was  far  greater  than  any 
in  young  Gathorpe,  whose  classmates  knew  him 
with  a  glance.  There  was  nothing  that  could  possi- 
bly have  any  association  for  him  in  the  dark,  slender, 
handsome  young  man,  with  the  seedy  youth,  the  thin 
face,  the  deep-rimmed,  despairing  eyes  of  that  old 
interview. 

But  as  the  two  grasped  hands,  and  looked  earnestly 
in  each  other's  eyes,  there  was  a  change  in  Carryl's. 
For,  at  the  sight  of  his  fine,  eager  face,  Ray  had 


310  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

smiled  a  little,  and  it  was  the  smile  which  Dorrice's 
brother  had  once  assured  her  he  should  recognize 
anywhere ;  he  stared,  silent  and  bewildered,  at  the 
stranger,  his  memory  striving  to  grasp  some  scene  or 
person  that  all  the  time  baffled  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Gathorpe,"  he  said,  at 
last,  for  his  manner  was  beginning  to  attract  the 
notice  of  the  ladies,  "  but  I  have  a  strong  impression 
that  I  have  met  you  before." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  no  recollection  of  it, 
Mr.  Dacres."  Ray's  smile  grew  more  pronounced  as 
he  looked  into  the  eyes  regarding  him  with  that 
bright,  penetrating  gaze.  The  clear,  decided  accent 
seemed  to  stir  some  long-silent  echo  in  Carryl's 
memory.  What  was  that  far,  faint  voice  from  the 
past,  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  catching  one  mo- 
ment, and  that  fell  and  died  the  next? 

"I  must  be  mistaken,"  said  Carryl,  at  last,  half 
speaking  to  himself,  as  the  vividness  of  his  first  im- 
pression waned.  "  I  have  been  thrown  among  such 
a  variety  of  people  during  the  last  two  years,  that 
my  memory  is  likely  to  play  me  all  sorts  of  tricks." 

"  That  is  precisely  my  own  case,"  answered  Ray. 

"  But  what  made  you  stare  at  him  in  that  dazed 
fashion  when  you  first  met?"  asked  Dorrice. 

She  was  standing  in  the  late  summer  twilight,  on 
the  piazza.  The  young  men  had  remained  to  supper, 
and  Carryl  and  his  sister  had  left  Mrs.  Kent  a  few 
minutes  with  their  guest. 

"I  can  no  more  explain  it  than  you  can.  I  shall 
never  trust  my  first  impressions  again.  I  could 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  311 

almost  have  sworn  I  had  seen  —  talked  with  the 
young  fellow  —  somewhere.  But  that  was  im- 
possible." 

"  It  must  have  been."  She  turned  to  gaze  through 
the  honeysuckle-vines  at  the  dull-red  afterglow  in 
the  western  sky.  "What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"He  is  a  fine  fellow.  Did  you  notice  what  a 
grand  head  he  has  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  struck  me  the  first  time  I  saw  him." 

"He  has  brains,  and  heart,  and  conscience,  and 
they  haven't  any  of  them  gone  to  rust.  One  can 
perceive  that,  who  has  learned  the  signs.  I  like  to 
see  a  fellow  with  such  a  splendid  mental  and  moral 
equipment,"  he  added,  fervently. 

"  All  that  is  high  praise,  after  a  first  interview," 
commented  Dorrice,  leaning  over  the  low  parapet 
and  plucking  a  yellow  rose  from  a  large  bush  below 
her. 

"I  know  it  is;  and  you  know  whether  my  weak- 
ness is  in  the  way  of  superlatives." 

"  Hardly !  "  she  said,  with  a  little,  significant  ele- 
vating of  her  eyebrows.  Then  she  went  on  to  tell 
him  what  she  had  heard  of  this  young  Gathorpe 
from  Mrs.  Kent  —  how  he  was  the  heir  of  his  uncle, 
and  the  owner  of  Bylanes. 

"Where  is  that?" 

"It  is  a  noble  old  family-estate,  somewhere  in 
northeastern  Massachusetts.  It  has  come  down  to 
him  through  generations  of  ancestors.  He  is  the 
last  of  the  race.  It  all  sounds  a  little  like  the 
inheritance  of  some  old  feudal  domain ;  but  the  for- 
tune hasn't  spoiled  him  in  the  least,  Mrs.  Kent  says. 


312  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

His  long  life  abroad,  too,  has  only  sent  him  back  with 
more  faith  in  the  future  of  his  native  land,  and  more 
love  for  it.  His  uncle  —  he  was  an  old  friend  of 
Mrs.  Kent's,  who  was  very  fond  of  him  —  was  a  man 
of  men." 

While  Dorrice  was  talking,  she  had  been  fastening 
the  yellow  rose  in  Carryl's  vest  button-hole. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  affection- 
ately on  her  shoulder.  "  You  are  the  dearest  old 
girl  in  the  world,  Dorrice  !  " 

"  For  one  yellow  rose,  Carryl ! "  she  said,  play- 
fully. "  That  superlative  did  not  cost  me  dear." 

Her  gaze  went  about  all  the  honeysuckle-vines, 
and  bushes,  gay  with  blossoms,  and  low,  wide- 
spreading  shrubs,  which,  at  that  season,  hid  the 
piazza  in  a  great  nest  of  greenery,  and  then  her 
glance  came  and  rested,  wistful  and  tender,  on 
Carryl.  The  sense  that  he  was  once  more  by  her 
side  had  not  yet  lost  its  freshness.  "  Oh,  Carryl," 
she  broke  out,  "  how  often  I  have  walked  here  and 
longed  to  have  you  with  me  just  one  hour!  You 
can't  imagine  how  good  it  does  seem  to  wake  at 
night,  and  know  that  big  Atlantic  .no  longer  rolls 
between  us." 

"  You  will  never  have  that  experience  again,"  he 
rejoined,  very  decidedly.  "When  I  go  over  next 
time,  you  will  be  along." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  smile  in  which  her  eyes 
had,  just  then,  more  share  than  her  lips,  and  it  struck 
him  that  she  looked,  as  she  leaned  against  the  para- 
pet, with  her  dark  head  and  slender  limbs  in  strong 
relief  against  the  greenery,  like  some  piece  of  rare 


A   BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  313 

sculpture ;  but  even  such  a  brother  as  Carryl  Dacres 
would  be  less  likely  than  a  lover  to  say  this  to  his 
sister. 

In  a  moment  his  thoughts  recurred  to  another  sub- 
ject. "  But  you  haven't  told  me  yet  what  you  think 
of  young  Gathorpe,"  he  said. 

Before  she  could  reply,  there  was  a  movement  at 
one  of  the  windows,  and  Mrs.  Kent  and  her  guest 
came  out  and  joined  the  two  on  the  piazza. 

That  evening  the  young  men  returned  in  company 
to  the  city.  Each  felt  that  he  had  enjoyed  a  rare 
afternoon — a  stimulating,  delightful  companionship. 
Each  had  a  strong  desire  to  know  more  of  the  other. 

"  One  doesn't  come  across  a  fellow  like  this  young 
Dacres  every  day,"  said  Ray  to  himself,  after  they 
had  shaken  hands  warmly,  and  separated. 

But  when  he  got  to  his  room  that  night,  it  was 
less  the  dark,  handsome  face  of  young  Dacres  which 
stood  before  him,  than  another,  —  a  woman's  face, 
fair  and  fine,  with  dark,  mystic  eyes,  that  held  in 
their  depths  the  still,  clear  shining  of  stars. 


XXXIX. 

DURING  the  next  two  months,  Ray  Gathorpe  was 
much  at  the  cottage  in  West  Newton.  The  necessity 
of  frequent  consultations  with  his  lawyer  brought 
him  often  to  Boston  at  this  time,  and  he  would,  in 
any  case,  have  seized  every  opportunity  to  see  the 
friend  who  was  such  a  link  with  his  uncle,  and  his 
own  past. 

But  the  society  of  her  young  people  formed  one  of 
the  cumulative  attractions  which  drew  Ray  Gathorpe 
so  often  to  Mrs.  Kent's. 

He  and  Carryl  had  recently  been  over  much  the 
same  European  ground,  and  enjoyed  living  over 
again  the  impressions  which  foreign  scenes,  and  art- 
centres,  and  noble  historic  associations,  had  made  on 
the  eager,  alert  minds  of  young  manhood. 

Then,  too,  there  was  the  delightful  home-environ- 
ment, the  sweet  and  gracious  presence  of  Mrs.  Kent, 
to  place  her  young  people  on  that  familiar  footing 
which  they  would  have  reached  nowhere  else  in  the 
world. 

Circumstances,  too,  favored  the  growing  intimacy. 
Everybody  was  away,  at  the  seashore  or  the  moun- 
tains, so  the  young  men  had  their  own  time,  and  the 
society  of  the  ladies  quite  to  themselves. 

314 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  315 

In  a  little  while  these  visits  had  become  the  most 
agreeable  feature  of  the  summer  fo  Ray  Gathorpe. 
Indeed,  both  he  and  Carryl  felt  that  they  had  found 
in  each  other's  society  a  wide  range  of  sympathies 
and  a  source  of  fresh  mental  stimulus  for  which  each 
must  be  grateful  all  his  life. 

Ray  could  not,  of  course,  be  much  in  the  society 
of  the  brother  and  sister  without  perceiving  their 
fondness  for  each  other.  Not  that  this  took  the 
form  of  speech  or  demonstration  of  any  sort,  in  the 
presence  of  strangers.  On  the  contrary,  they  were 
much  in  the  habit  of  bantering  each  other ;  and  in 
their  lively  badinage  and  repartee,  sometimes  one, 
sometimes  the  other,  got  the  better. 

When  he  was  alone  with  Mrs.  Kent,  they  naturally 
talked  of  her  young  friends.  But,  herself  a  woman 
of  fine  reserves,  she  was,  for  some  reason  which  she 
did  not  analyze,  rather  unusually  reticent  on  these 
occasions.  The  things  which  all  the  world  might 
know  of  Carryl  and  Dorrice  Dacres  were  pretty 
much  all  that  she  confided  to  young  Gathorpe. 

So  he  learned  about  their  early  orphanage,  their 
coming  to  Boston,  their  home  on  Pinckney  Street, 
the  small  school  Dorrice  had  taught  there,  and  the 
first  meeting,  three  summers  ago,  at  the  Glen  House. 

Mrs.  Kent  could  not  relate  this  without  alluding, 
more  or  less,  to  early  sacrifices  and  struggles,  but 
she  did  not  enter  into  these  matters  at  any  length. 

It  is  almost  impossible  for  one  reared  amid  wealth 
and  luxury  to  conceive  of  poverty,  unless  it  is 
brought  in  some  palpable,  sordid  form  under  his 
eyes. 


316  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Ray  Gathorpe  had  not  the  dimmest  notion  of  what 
the  struggle  had  really  been  for  these  two  —  the 
manly,  lovable  fellow,  and  the  young  woman  with 
her  luminous,  magical  eyes,  and  a  grace  and  loveli- 
ness which  began  to  seem  to  him  more  and  more  to 
lend  fragrance  to  the  air  about  her. 

One  day  a  slight  thing  happened,  which  puzzled 
Ray  at  the  time,  and  which  he  thought  of  afterward. 
They  had  got  into  some  very  serious  talk  —  indeed, 
one  of  the  things  which  would  most  likely  have 
struck  a  stranger  would  have  been  the  manner  in 
which  the  mood  of  the  talk  between  these  young 
people  varied  from  grave  to  gay.  Nobody  could 
have  told  just  how  the  differences  in  human  fates 
happened  to  come  up  at  that  time,  but,  during  the 
course  of  the  talk,  Ray  had  said,  gravely :  "  Of 
course,  one  cannot  understand  anything  until  he  has 
lived  it.  How  can  any  of  us  enter  into  the  feeling 
of  a  man  who  actually  has'  not  money  to  bu}r  his 
dinner !  There  are  many  poor  fellows  every  day  in 
precisely  that  plight !  Of  course  we  are  sorry,  when 
we  hear  about  them.  But  we,  who  never  knew  the 
bitterness  of  cold  or  hunger,  have  as  little  real  con- 
ception of  it  as  we  have  of  the  feeling  of  the 
handful  of  survivors  who  staggered,  pallid  and  gasp- 
ing, into  the  morning  after  that  night  in  the  Black 
Hole  of  Calcutta." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Carryl  had  been 
moving  about  the  room,  during  the  last  few  minutes  ; 
he  came  to  a  full  pause  before  his  sister,  and  the  two 
looked  in  each  other's  face.  Ray  caught  the  glance 
that  stole  up  from  the  brown,  dark-lashed  eyes. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  317 

There  was  a  strange  solemn  look  in  them.     What 
did  it  mean  ? 

It  was  Mrs.  Kent's  voice  that  answered  at  last. 
"  You  are  right,  Ray !  We  know,  after  all,  very  little 
about  the  things  we  have  never  lived." 


XL. 


ONE  morning  Ray's  lawyer  disappointed  him.  A 
note  at  the  office  explained  the  necessity  for  this. 
The  young  man  found  himself  in  Boston  with  several 
unoccupied  hours  on  his  hands.  After  debating  the 
matter  briefly  with  himself,  he  resolved  to  go  out 
to  West  Newton. 

He  found  Dapple  —  Mrs.  Kent's  big-framed,  trusty 
old  mare,  her  deep  sorrel  color  mottled  about  the 
head  and  chest  with  light  yellow  spots  —  at  the  gate. 
Dorrice  was  just  stepping  into  the  small  phaeton. 
Ray  took  in  at  a  glance  the  airy  grace  of  her  figure, 
in  a  buff  cambric,  the  fine  cool  fabric  clinging  close 
to  her  limbs,  with  a  scarf  of  pale  lemon  color  tied  in 
large,  pendant  bows  at  her  throat.  She  wore  a  small 
round  hat  of  light  yellow  straw,  around  which  was 
knotted  some  soft  gauzy  stuff,  of  a  little  darker 
shade.  Her  dresses  were  always  simple  in  make,  as 
they  were  quiet  in  tint,  but  clinging  folds  and 
flexile  lines  invested  her  with  a  subtle  womanly 
daintiness. 

Chief  —  always  following  her  about  like  a  shadow 
—  had  come  out  to  the  carriage  with  her.  He  was 
an  English  mastiff —  a  huge  creature,  with  the  light 
yellowish  coat  and  long,  loping  gait  of  the  thorough- 
bred. A  friend  had  given  the  dog  to  Mrs.  Kent 

318 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  319 

when  he  was  only  a  few  weeks  old.  He  raised  his 
forefeet  to  the  carriage-step,  and  looked  at  Dorrice 
with  his  big,  entreating  eyes,  as  she  took  the  reins. 

She  shook  her  head,  but  it  was  with  evident  re- 
luctance. "No,  Chief,  I  can't  have  you  along  this 
morning,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  showed  the 
animal  was  a  pet  with  her.  "  Be  a  good  dog  and  go 
straight  to  your  mistress,  and  take  care  of  her  until 
I  come  back." 

Chief  took  his  feet  from  the  step,  turned  his  huge 
length  obediently,  and  started  for  the  house.  Then, 
much  to  Dorrice's  surprise,  Ray  Gathorpe  came  for- 
ward. 

He  lifted  his  hat.  "  You  have  a  lovely  morning 
for  your  drive,  Miss  Dacres,"  he  said.  "  Is  it  to  be 
a  long  one?  " 

"  Not  very :  I  am  going  over  to  Belmont,  on 
some  errands  for  Mrs.  Kent." 

"  If  I  should  presume  to  ask  permission  to  accom- 
pany you,  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  to  meet  with  the 
fate  that  Chief  did,  just  now ! "  patting  the  big  head, 
for,  on  recognizing  that  voice,  the  dog  had  returned, 
and  was  regarding  the  pair  with  solemn,  intent  gaze. 

"  Can  you  muster  courage  to  try  and  see,  Mr. 
Gathorpe?  "  she  answered,  archly. 

"  Well,  then,  may  I  have  the  pleasure  of  driving 
with  you  this  morning,  Miss  Dacres?" 

For  answer  she  made  room  on  the  seat,  and  placed 
the  reins  in  his  hands. 

It  was  a  perfect  morning  in  the  waning  midsum- 
mer. Days  of  fiery  heat  had  preceded  it,  paralyzing 
the  air,  and  parching  the  land ;  but  at  last  the 


320  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

longed-for  change  had  come.  An  east  wind  blew, 
and  stirred  the  drooping  leaves,  and  thrilled  the  faint- 
ing land.  A  thin,  gray  haze  ravelled  away  in  places, 
and,  showing  stripes  and  reaches  of  brilliant  azure, 
shielded  the  earth  from  the  intense  sun-rays.  The 
odor  of  flowering  things,  in  wildwood  and  field  and 
garden,  was  in  the  air.  The  heart  of  the  summer  no 
longer  throbbed  with  the  full  life,  the  bounding  pulse, 
of  the  June.  It  rather  beat  now  with  the  calm  exult- 
ant consciousness  of  work  accomplished  and  perfect. 

Dapple,  despite  twenty  years  of  service,  had 
plenty  of  his  old  fire  left ;  he  felt  the  touch  of  strong 
hands  on  the  reins,  and  started  off  at  a  brisk  pace. 
Dorrice's  heart  was  full  of  glad  response  to  all  the 
loveliness  of  the  summer  morning.  When  Ray 
turned  to  speak  to  her,  there  was  a  light  in  her  face 
as  though  she  had  heard  "  the  Muses  sing  around  the 
rose  of  joy." 

The  talk,  for  the  first  two  miles,  ran  in  a  light,  rath- 
er intermittent  vein.  They  had  grown  well  enough 
acquainted,  by  this  time,  not  to  feel  awkward  at 
little  lapses  of  silence.  The  thought  may  have 
occurred  to  one,  or  both,  that  this  was  the  first  drive 
they  had  ever  taken  together,  and  that  it  had  come 
about  in  the  most  unlooked-for  fashion. 

"  What  a  still,  picturesque  bit  of  old  road  this 
is  !  "  exclaimed  Ray  as  he  came  upon  a  stretch  of 
sloping  highway,  where  the  orchards  on  one  side, 
and  fields  on  the  other,  with  the  brown  cattle  show- 
ing finely  against  the  brilliant  green  of  grass  and 
trees,  had  a  more  decidedly  rural  effect  than  any- 
thing they  had  yet  traversed. 


A   BOSTON    GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  321 

Dorrice  bent  forward  now,  and  surveyed  the  scene 
with  the  keenest  interest.  "  I  cannot  be  mistaken," 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  glad  recognition.  "This 
is  the  old  place  where  Carryl  and  I  used  to  come. 
It  seems  only  yesterday." 

"  Was  it  so  long  ago,  then  ?  " 

"  It  was  that  first  summer  after  we  went  to  live  on 
Pinckney  Street.  We  used  to  have  such  glorious 
larks  when  Carryl  could  get  a  holiday,  or  a  part  of 
one." 

"And  this,  it  appears,  was  one  of  your  favorite 
drives  ?  " 

"Drives!"  She  repeated  the  word  as  though  she 
had  not  quite  comprehended  it.  Then,  in  a  flash 
she  added :  "  Oh,  Mr.  Gathorpe,  we  never  had 
drives  in  those  days !  We  used  to  take  the  horse- 
cars  to  some  convenient  terminus,  and  then  strike  off 
into  the  woods,  and  find  the  most  bewitching  out-of- 
the-way  nooks  and  bits,  just  off  the  dreamy  old 
country-highways.  This  old  road  was  one  of 
them.  It  seems  as  though  we  must  be  walking  here 
again." 

Ray  could  not  credit  his  own  ears.  Take  the 
horse-cars,  indeed !  Did  the  straitened  resources 
at  which  Mrs.  Kent  had  hinted,  mean  economies  and 
denials  so  rigid  that  the  two  could  not  afford  a  little 
afternoon  drive  into  the  country  ? 

He  heard  the  soft  melody  of  Dorrice's  voice  break 
again  at  his  side.  "  You  have  no  idea  what  famous 
tramps  we  were.  I  used  to  tell  Carryl  that  the  law 
against  the  class  would  fairly  include  us !  " 

Ray  laughed ;  but  there  was  a  little  odd,  puzzled 


322  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

note  in  the  laugh,  as  he  glanced  at  the  smiling  lips, 
and  the  great,  luminous  eyes. 

Perhaps  it  struck  her,  for  she  was  silent  a  moment, 
and  then  she  said,  with  a  kind  of  bright  gravity :  "  I 
dare  say  it  all  seems  very  strange  to  you." 

"  What  does  ? "  he  asked,  flicking  off  with  his 
whip-lash  a  big  fly  that  had  settled  on  Dapple's  flank. 

"  That  we  could  be  so  happy  with  —  with  so  many 
limitations." 

He  turned  and  faced  her  seriously.  What  large, 
beautiful  hazel-gray  eyes  he  had,  when  he  brought 
their  full  power  to  bear  upon  anybody ! 

" Happy !"  he  repeated.  "You  are  the  only  per- 
son, Miss  Dacres,  who  ever  gave  me  the  impression 
of  never  having  known  a  sorrow." 

"  Oh,  do  I  really  seem  like  that  to  you  ? "  she 
exclaimed,  a  good  deal  startled. 

"  Precisely." 

"  But  it  is  not  true.  It  would  be  very  bad  for  me 
if  it  had  been." 

The  answer  came  this  time  in  a  quick,  exclamatory 
way,  which  showed  some  feeling  hurried  her  into 
speech  before  she  had  time  for  a  second  thought. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  ?  " 

"If  I  had  never  known  a  sorrow  I  should  have 
been  —  horribly  selfish." 

"You  mean  we  must  have  some  experience  of 
trouble  before  we  can  sympathize  with  it  in  others  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  was  what  I  meant,  —  at  least  in  my 
own  case." 

"  I  should  have  been  inclined  to  say  the  exception 
was  in  your  case." 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  323 

"  Ah !  that  is  because  you  don't  know." 

Before  lie  could  reply,  she  had  spoken  again. 
"We  are  to  stop  at  that  house  on  the  right,  —  the 
white  one  with  the  straw-colored  blinds,  and  the 
row  of  tiger-lilies  in  the  front  yard.  I  shall  be  gone 
only  a  few  minutes." 

They  drew  up  to  the  gate  of  the  farm-house,  and 
after  he  had  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  she  had  gone 
inside,  he  walked  about  in  the  short  grass  that 
bordered  the  road,  and  patted  Dapple's  white  nose, 
and  absently  snapped  off  a  grasshopper  from  his 
coat-sleeve,  and  smiled  to  himself  a  little,  as  he 
thought  what  a  grave  turn  the  gay  talk  with  which 
they  started  had  taken.  He  thought,  too,  what  a 
lucky  fellow  Dacres  was,  to  have  such  a  sister. 
How  much  he  had  missed !  What  a  constant  de- 
light it  would  have  been,  could  he  have  had  such  a 
tender,  joyous  influence  about  his  own  youth. 

Then  his  thoughts  recurred  again  to  what  she  had 
said  about  their  tramps.  Could  that  lovely  creature, 
who  seemed  made  of  all  that  was  finest  and  rarest  in 
spirit  and  flesh,  have  really  gone  without  —  things 
she  wanted!  It  hurt  him  —  made  him  indignant  to 
feel  that  must  be  true.  Then  it  struck  him  that  he 
really  knew  very  little  of  the  Dacres'  history  de- 
spite what  Mrs.  Kent  had  told  him,  and  though  he 
had  been  meeting  them  constantly  for  the  last  two 
months. 

In  a  little  while  Dorrice  came  out  of  the  front 
door.  Mrs.  Kent's  table  was  largely  supplied  from 
the  farm-house,  and  its  small,  sharp-featured  mis- 
tress accompanied  the  young  woman  to  the  gate, 


324  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

eying  Ray  curiously,  her  apron  drawn  over  her 
head. 

They  had  got  but  a  short  distance  on  their  return, 
when  Ray  suddenly  asked,  as  though  the  question 
was  of  importance  to  him,  "  Should  you  regard  it, 
Miss  Dacres,  as  a  good  fortune  —  as  an  enviable 
thing  —  to  be  the  owner  of  large  wealth  ?  " 

Dorrice  was  one  of  those  comfortable  people  who 
are  not  startled  by  an  unlooked-for  question. 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  you,"  she  said. 
"  Something  must  depend  on  what  you  would  call  a 
large  fortune." 

"Well  —  say  a  few  millions." 

Mrs.  Kent,  when  she  talked  of  young  Gathorpe, 
had  never  made  a  point  of  his  wealth.  To  do  this 
would  have  seemed  to  her  essentially  vulgar.  The 
growing  intimacy  between  the  young  men  who  met 
so  often  under  her  roof  was  a  source  of  much  pleas- 
ure to  her.  She  felt  an  almost  maternal  pride  in  the 
noble,  lovable  young  fellows,  and  often  in  her 
thoughts,  and  occasionally  to  their  faces,  called  them 
her  boys. 

Her  silence  did  not,  of  course,  come  from  any 
doubt  lest  the  vast  difference  in  their  worldly 
fortunes  could  have  a  remote  influence  on  their 
relations.  But  she  could  see  no  reason  for 
dwelling  on  a  mere  accident  of  wealth.  She  was 
aware,  too,  that  the  world,  with  its  love  of  gossip, 
and  idolatry  of  money,  would  not  long  permit  the 
brother  and  sister  to  remain  in  the  dark  regard- 
ing the  extent  of  young  Gathorpe's  possessions. 
But,  for  her  own  part,  she  never  added  anything 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  325 

to  her  first  statement,  that  he  was  the  owner  of 
Bylanes. 

It  therefore  never  entered  Dorrice's  mind  that  his 
question  could  have  any  personal  bearing,  as  she  re- 
plied :  "  Oh,  my  imagination  is  not  equal  to  any- 
thing of  that  sort !  I  know,  of  course,  there  must 
be  people  in  the  world  who  count  their  wealth  by 
millions ;  but  all  that  seems  to  me  like  the  old  east- 
ern fables  of  gardens  where  the  trees  sparkled  and 
glittered  with  diamonds  and  emeralds  and  all  pre- 
cious stones.  Do,  Mr.  Gathorpe,  bring  your  talk 
down  to  values  that  are,  at  least,  possible  for  me  to 
conceive  of ! " 

There  was  an  amused  flash  in  his  eyes.  "  Yet 
there  are  people,"  he  said,  "  who  are  born  into  these 
grand  fortunes.  The  world,  at  least,  regards  them  as 
immensely  lucky  fellows.  They  don't  have  to  en- 
dure the  heat,  and  bear  the  burdens  of  the  day. 
They  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  fierce  tug  and 
scramble  for  existence,  in  which  most  of  their  fellow- 
beings  are  absorbed.  Somebody  else  has  gone 
through  with  all  that  for  the  small  minority  who  are 
left  to  enjoy  the  ease,  the  freedom,  the  leisure, 
which  the  rest  of  the  world  are  straining  soul  and 
body  to  attain.  It  doesn't  seem  quite  the  fair  thing. 
I  was  curious  to  know  how  all  this  would  strike  you, 
Miss  Dacres." 

"The  subject,  no  doubt,  has  a  good  many  sides. 
But  I  think  one  born  to  this  grand  fortune  must 
feel  —  at  least,  ought  to  feel  —  that  he  has  duties 
and  responsibilities  he  cannot  shirk." 

"  You  mean  that  he  owes  much  to  others." 


326  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  Yes.  One  always  does  that  who  has  wealth,  or 
any  other  gift  of  God." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Dapple  went  at  a 
smart  pace  along  the  highway  that  stretched,  a 
smooth  yellow-brown  line,  between  wide  margins  of 
grass,  flecked  with  daisies  and  white  clover.  When 
Ray  Gathorpe  spoke  again,  there  was  a  touch  of 
deeper  feeling  in  his  voice.  "I  believe  what  3^011  say 
is  true,  Miss  Dacres.  Every  man  who  inherits  a 
fortune  ought  to  feel  that  this  fact  charges  him  with 
a  debt  to  the  world.  He  has  something  to  do  with 
his  wealth,  beside  using  it  for  his  own  self-indul- 
gence, though  that  may  take  all  fine  forms  that  noble 
and  cultivated  tastes  suggest.  Let  him  indulge 
these  to  the  top  of  his  bent.  But  a  man  hasn't 
reached  the  highest  aim  of  life  when  he  surrounds 
himself  with  grand  architecture  and  beautiful  land- 
scapes, and  collects  costly  pictures  and  libraries. 
He  may  be  a  selfish  curmudgeon,  for  all  that." 

"  If  the  men  who  own  millions  felt  like  this,  what 
a  different  world  it  would  be !  "  said  the  soft,  earnest 
voice  by  Ray  Gathorpe's  side. 

"Some  man  —  even  among  them  —  possibly  may. 
I  can  conceive  how  such  a  one  would  feel  at  times, 
to  see  others  —  his  own  workmen,  for  instance  —  look 
at  him  with  a  curious  mingling  of  awe  and  envy  in 
their  eyes  —  with  something  of  dumb  appeal  too, 
against  the  injustice  of  the  fate  that  had  made  such 
a  difference  in  their  lots.  If  he  had  a  heart  in  him, 
the  look  on  the  hard,  dull  faces  would  hurt  him. 
His  wealth  would  seem  a  kind  of  wrong,  insult,  to 
his  own  laborers ;  and  if,  in  certain  moods,  he  spoke 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  327 

out  his  own  feeling,  it  would  be  :  '  You  poor  fellows, 
I  don't  know  any  more  about  the  matter  than  you 
do.  I  don't  deserve  the  good  fortune  any  more  than 
you ;  and  God  only  knows  why  the  balance  is  so  im- 
mensely in  my  favor.'  A  man  feeling  like  that  must 
regard  his  wealth  from  a  standpoint  less  of  owner- 
ship than  of  stewardship." 

The  eyes  of  the  tall,  fair  young  woman,  who  sat 
at  Ray  Gathorpe's  side,  kindled  as  she  listened. 
When  he  paused,  she  turned  their  dark,  luminous 
splendors  upon  him.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Gathorpe,"  she  said, 
"  the  man  who  could  feel  like  that  —  talk  like  that 
—  would  be  worthy  of  his  millions  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  without  speaking. 
Then  he  said,  "Miss  Dacres,  are  you  willing  to 
shake  hands  with  me  on  those  words  ?  " 

In  the  exalted  mood  of  the  moment,  his  request 
did  not  even  surprise  her.  She  drew  off  her  glove, 
and  gave  him  her  soft,  slender  hand;  and  his  own, 
large  and  white  and  shapely,  closed  over  it. 

After  that,  the  talk  took  a  lighter  vein,  and  by 
the  time  they  entered  the  cool  shaded  avenues  of 
West  Newton,  the  young  man  and  woman  were  in  a 
sufficiently  gay  mood. 

Mrs.  Kent  was  waiting  on  the  east  piazza,  and 
was  surprised  to  see  Dorrice's  companion.  As  soon 
as  the  first  greetings  were  over,  Ray  explained  the 
happy  ^chance  which  had  brought  about  his  drive 
with  Miss  Dacres  that  morning. 

Mrs.  Kent  tried  to  insist  on  his  remaining  to 
lunch ;  but  an  engagement  in  the  city  forced  him  to 
take  the  next  train. 


328  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

A  little  later,  when  the  two  ladies  sat  at  lunch, 
Dorrice  asked  suddenly :  "  Is  Mr.  Gathorpe  a  very 
rich  man  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  is,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Kent,  set- 
ting down  a  china  tea-cup  of  delicate,  ancient  pat- 
tern, which  had  come  to  her  from  her  grandmother. 

"But  you  don't  mean  —  worth  millions  —  for 
instance?" 

"  Probably.  The  Gathorpes  have  been  wealthy  for 
generations,  and  the  property  was  well  managed  by 
Ray's  uncle.  But  why  do  you  ask,  Dorrice  ?  " 

"  It  was  something  he  said  during  our  drive  that 
—  that  suggested  the  question." 


XLI. 

Two  days  after  the  drive  to  Belmont,  Ray  and 
Carryl  were  together  in  Mrs.  Kent's  garden.  It  was 
a  favorite  resort  of  theirs.  It  had  a  charm  for  every- 
body who  entered  it.  It  was  an  old,  fragrant, 
dreamy  place,  reaching  far  down  from  the  back  of 
the  house,  filled  with  fruit-trees  and  vines  and 
bushes,  while  beds  full  of  sweet,  old-fashioned 
flowers  edged  the  walks  with  narrow  borderings  of 
bright  color. 

It  was  the  most  delightful  place  in  the  world  to 
lose  one's  self  in,  for  there  were  nooks  filled  with 
ferns,  and  small  terraces,  and  little  paths  twisting 
about  among  the  shrubbery,  so  that  the  old-fashioned 
garden  gave  pretty  effects  of  mystery  and  distance, 
and  seemed  much  larger  than  it  actually  was. 

The  young  men  were  in  a  corner  of  the  grounds, 
under  a  large  cherry-tree.  It  was  getting  late  in 
the  afternoon.  Ray  was  lounging  on  a  little  rustic 
bench,  while  Carryl  had  stretched  his  length  on  the 
short  grass.  They  had  been  deep  in  a  discussion  of 
European  politics.  Their  recent  travels  had  had 
the  effect  of  widening  and  stimulating  their  historic 
sympathies.  They  had  brought  to  their  discussion 
the  strong  convictions  and  enthusiasms  of  earnest 
young  manhood. 

329 


330  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

A  pause  came  in  the  talk,  which,  for  the  last  half- 
hour,  had  run  on  Beaconsfield  and  Gladstone,  and 
on  the  influence  which  the  characters  and  work  of 
the  two  statesmen  would  be  likely  to  exert  on  their 
own  age. 

In  the  silence,  Carryl's  profile  showed  in  high  re- 
lief against  the  grass.  The  sun  of  the  waning  after- 
noon caught  the  dark,  clear  outline,  and  sent  little 
golden  flecks  among  the  thick,  glossy  hair. 

Carryl  turned  lazily  in  the  drowsy  warmth,  rested 
his  chin  on  his  palms,  and  looked  up  at  his  com- 
panion in  an  intent,  absent  sort  of  way.  Both  the 
young  men  wore  suits  of  dark,  well-fitting  summer- 
cloth.  A  stranger  would  have  found  it  difficult  to 
decide,  from  their  dress  or  their  bearing,  which  of 
the  pair  was  the  owner  of  millions. 

"  Well,  Gathorpe,"  said  Carryl,  meeting  his  friend's 
gaze,  and  plucking  a  spear  of  grass,  "  what  are  you 
thinking  about?  " 

"  Curious  thing  —  that  law  of  association  of  ideas." 
Ray  spoke  absently.  "  What  could  have  started  that 
train  of  thought,  T  wonder?" 

"  I  shall  be  better  able  to  answer  you  when  I  have 
some  idea  what  the  train  of  thought  was." 

"  It  was  rather  a  scene  that  happened  years  ago. 
Nothing  in  our  present  surroundings  can  possibly 
have  any  connection  with  it;  yet,  as  you  lay  there, 
and  I  looked  at  your  profile,  cut  sharply  against  the 
grass,  the  whole  thing  came  up  to  me,  clear  and  fresh 
as  though  it  happened  yesterday." 

Something  in  the  speaker's  tone  aroused  Carryl's 
curiosity.  "Can't  you  give  a  fellow  a  hint  about  it, 
or  was  it  a  private  matter  ?  "  he  inquired. 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  331 

"Hardly  that.  There  were  only  two  actors — one 
of  them  myself.  The  other  was  a  youth,  scarcely 
more  than  a  boy.  I  see  him  now,  coming  up 
Ashburton  Place  toward  Somerset  Street,  in  the 
bright  noon  sunshine.  He  is  a  slender-built  young 
fellow,  and  has  a  rather  shabby  look,  and  is  coming 
on  in  a  blind,  rapid  way.  Something  in  his  gait  or 
manner  strikes  me  curiously.  He  runs  against  me 
at  the  corner,  and  then  starts  back  ;  and  when  I  get 
a  glance  into  his  eyes,  there  is  a  look  of  wild  misery 
in  them  which  I  hope  never  to  see  in  human  eyes  — 
why,  Dacres,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

For  Carryl  had  partly  raised  himself,  and  was 
staring  at  his  friend.  Among  the  soft  brown  shad- 
ows, his  face  had  a  strained,  white  look.  "  Go  on, 
Gathorpe,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  imperative  voice. 

Ray  saw  that  he  could  not  relate  the  story  without 
figuring  as  a  benefactor ;  but  it  was  not  easy  to  stop 
now,  so  he  kept  on,  with  brief,  rapid  sentences :  "  I 
followed  the  fellow  —  made  him  stop  —  dragged  the 
truth  out  of  him.  It  cost  him  an  awful  wrench  to 
tell  it.  Of  course  I  forced  something  on  him  ;  he 
couldn't  have  been  more  grateful  if  I  had  saved  his 
life.  I  got  his  address  —  meant  to  see  him  again  - 
but,  to  make  the  story  short,  I  have  never  heard  a 
syllable  of  him  from  that  day  to  this.  I  told  the 
story  to  but  one  person.  That  was  my  uncle.  It 
was  one  of  the  things  we  talked  of  the  last  night  we 
spent  together,  and  we  had  plans  for  brightening  the 
poor  fellow's  fortunes.  Strange,  what  could  have 
brought  the  thing  up  while  you  lay  there  with  the 
sunshine  on  your  face  !  " 


332  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Carryl  had  lain  back  on  the  grass.  Two  or  three 
moments  passed  before  he  asked,  "  Did  he  say  any- 
thing about  a  sister  who  was  starving?" 

"  Yes."  The  next  instant  Ray's  startled  voice 
broke  out,  "  But  how  should  you  know  anything 
about  that?" 

Carryl  sprang  to  his  feet.  His  black  eyes  blazed 
large  in  his  white  face.  For  a  few  moments  he  stood 
motionless,  gazing  at  his  companion,  without  uttering 
a  syllable.  Then  he  said,  "  Come  with  me,  Ga- 
thorpe  !  " 

And  without  a  word  —  too  surprised  and  perplexed 
by  the  other's  behavior  to  utter  one  —  Ray  rose  and 
went  with  him. 

They  turned  toward  the  piazza  on  the  east  of  the 
house.  When  they  reached  the  side  door,  Carryl 
went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  called,  "  Dorrice 
Dacres,  come  here  !  " 

The  loud,  imperative  summons  reached  her  in  her 
own  room.  It  did  not  sound  just  like  Carryl.  It 
brought  her,  swift  and  startled,  down  the  stairs. 
She  had  on  a  dressing-sacque  of  cream-colored  cash- 
mere, edged  with  a  light  blue  embroidery.  She  had 
been  arranging  her  hair ;  and,  in  her  haste,  a  part  of 
the  rich  auburn  mass  had  slipped  down,  and  hung,  a 
rippling  heap  about  her  shoulder. 

She  found  the  young  men  on  the  piazza.  Her 
dishabille  was  rather  picturesque,  and  her  beauty, 
and  its  fine,  finished  quality,  struck  Ray  anew  at  that 
moment. 

She,  in  her  turn,  might,  another  time,  have  noticed 
the  fine  foil  the  young  men  made  for  each  other. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  333 

Ray,  with  his  strong,  erect  build,  blond  and  brown- 
bearded,  a  touch  of  the  Berserker  about  him,  but 
something  that  was  better  and  nobler  and  —  modern. 
Against  him  were  drawn  Carryl's  slighter  lines  and 
darker  coloring.  His  young,  earnest  face  might, 
to  a  romantic  observer,  have  suggested  some  picture 
of  a  mediaeval  knight  about  to  set  off  on  a  quest  of 
honor  and  danger  —  only  there  was  something  more 
and  nobler,  too,  in  Carryl  Dacres — something  that 
belonged  to  the  larger  purpose,  the  finer  atmosphere, 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  exclaimed  Dorrice,  her 
startled  glance  going  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Dorrice,"  said  her  brother,  "  I  have  just  learned 
who  it  was  that  saved  us  in  the  darkest  hour,  and  the 
utmost  strait  of  our  lives.  You  always  said  we 
should  find  him."  Then  he  turned  and  clasped  his 
hands,  with  something  of  a  woman's  caressing  move- 
ment, on  Ray's  shoulder.  The  tears  were  in  his 
eyes.  "  Here  he  stands." 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  burst  out  Ray,  staring  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  growing  very  white.  "  You 
don't  mean  —  "  He  could  get  no  farther. 

But  Dorrice !  There  was  a  moment's  bewilder- 
ment in  her  face ;  then  a  low,  amazed  cry  burst  from 
her  lips,  as  the  truth  forced  itself  on  her.  She 
turned  white,  as  she  might  under  a  staggering  blow. 
But  with  her  rare  self-poise  the  calmness  returned, 
and  controlled  all  the  tumult  of  heart  and  brain. 
After  an  instant's  pause,  she  turned  to  Ray  Gathorpe. 
She  reached  out  her  hands  to  him.  He  would  never 
forget  how  she  looked  at  that  instant,  with  the  great 


334  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

shining  in  her  eyes,  with  her  proud,  tremulous  lips, 
and  her  hair,  with  its  golden  glints,  like  a  dark  cloud, 
about  her  pale  face.  "  Oh,  I  am  glad  it  was  you  !  " 
she  said.  "I  would  rather  it  had  been  you  than 
anybody  in  the  world." 


XLII. 

• 
LESS   than    half  an   hour  later,  Carryl  came  up 

stairs  to  his  sister.  After  her  brief  speech  to  Ray 
Gathorpe,  she  had  turned  and  left  him  and  her 
brother  on  the  piazza.  For  a  few  moments  the  young 
men  had  looked  at  each  other,  without  a  word.  Then 
there  was  a  diversion  in  the  shape  of  a  telegram  for 
Ray.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  unwelcome  to 
him  ;  but  it  was,  perhaps,  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  happened  at  that  juncture.  Some  business 
matter  it  was  important  to  settle  that  day,  required 
his  immediate  presence  at  his  lawyer's.  There  was 
barely  time  to  seize  the  next  train. 

Carryl  accompanied  Ray  to  the  station.  On  their 
way,  neither  alluded  to  what  had  passed ;  but  before 
they  separated,  the  two  grasped  hands,  looked  in 
each  other's  eyes,  and  felt  there  was  a  new,  lifelong 
bond  between  them. 

"  I  see  now  why  I  felt  toward  you  from  the  first, 
Gathorpe,  as—  Carryl  could  not  finish  the  sen- 
tence. 

"My  dear  Dacres,  all  this  has  cut  me  up  horri- 
bly !  "  Then  the  train  began  to  move,  and  Ray  had 
to  spring  aboard. 

Carryl  found  his  sister  pacing  the  room.  She  gave 
a  low  cry  at  sight  of  him,  and  tried  to  speak ;  but 

335 


336  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

sobs  broke  instead  of  words.  When  he  went  to  her, 
she  clung  to  him,  white  and  shaken. 

Carryl  was  tenderness  itself.  "  It  was  cruel,  I 
know,  to  take  you  in  that  sudden,  unprepared  way. 
I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  it ;  but  the  whole 
thing  came  upon  me  such  an  overpowering  sur- 
prise ! "  . 

In  a  little  while  she  had  mastered  her  agitation. 
When  she  was  calm  enough  to  listen,  Carryl  drew 
her  down  on  the  lounge,  and,  seating  himself  by  her 
side,  he  related  all  that  had  happened  under  the 
cherry-tree.  "  When  you  learned  the  truth,  you  said 
—  just  what  I  felt,  Dorrice,"  he  concluded. 

A  faint  flush  crept  under  the  clear  olive  skin.  "  I 
could  not  help  saying  what  I  did,"  she  answered, 
in  low,  shaken  tones.  "  I  could  not  help  going 
away  and  leaving  you  after  I  had  spoken.  Ho\v 
strange  — how  marvellous  it  all  seems  !  " 

A  little  later,  they  heard  Mrs  Kent's  voice  —  she 
had  been  out  for  a  drive  —  in  the  hall.  Then  there 
was  a  summons  to  supper. 

Late  that  evening,  Ray  Gathorpe  walked  his  room 
at  the  Parker  House,  and  went  over  all  that  had  hap- 
pened in  the  afternoon.  He  had  been  compelled  to 
give  his  undivided  attention  to  the  affairs  which  had 
summoned  him  to  the  city;  but  as  soon  as  his 
thoughts  were  free  to  follow  their  own  bent,  they 
recurred  to  the  scene  between  himself  and  young 
Dacres  and  his  sister. 

The  rattling  of  horse-cars,  the  rumbling  of  coach 
wheels,  the  hum  of  voices,  the  movement  of  feet,  and 
all  the  myriad  sounds  with  which  the  great  city  was 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  337 

filling  the  summer  night,  came  through  his  window 
in  a  dim,  muffled  way.  He  did  not  hear  them;  he 
was  living  over  the  story  he  had  learned  that  after- 
noon ;  he  was  seeing  the  look  in  Dorrice  Dacres' 
eyes,  as  she  stood  on  the  piazza.  He  heard  again  the 
clear  accents  of  her  voice,  and  he  felt  that  the  words 
she  had  spoken  at  that  crucial  moment,  would  haunt 
his  memory  as  long  as  he  lived. 

Then  his  thoughts  went  to  that  far-off  time  when 
he  first  met^  Carryl  Dacres.  The  whole  scene  was 
again  before  him,  —  the  bright,  noonday  sunshine, 
the  short,  narrow  perspective,  with  the  gloomy  brick 
fa9ades,  and  that  rapid  young  figure  coming  toward 
him.  Ray  actually  groaned  sharply,  and  set  his  jaws 
grimly,  as  he  thought  of  all  that  high-spirited,  sensi- 
tive boy  and  girl  must  have  gone  through,  before 
they  reached  their  depth  of  misery.  The  old  wrath 
against  some  cruel,  malignant  fate  worked  fiercer 
than  ever  within  him.  Then  his  mood  changed ;  he 
threw  himself  into  a  chair,  crossed  his  arms  on  the 
table,  buried  his  face  in  them,  and  broke  down  in  a 
great  sob. 


XLIII. 

WHEN  Ray  Gathorpe  was  next  at  Mrs.  Kent's,  no- 
body alluded  to  what  had  passed.  Impersonal  topics 
were  more  agreeable  on  this  occasion.  Even  when 
the  young  men  started  off  on  one  of  their  long  even- 
ing walks,  there  was  no  recurrence  to  fhe  subject 
that  was  uppermost  in  their  consciousness. 

There  was  no  perceptible  change  in  Dorrice,  either, 
when  sh&  and  Ray  Gathorpe  met.  Her  gay  moods 
sparkled  out  of  her  grave  ones  as  they  had  always 
done.  She  seemed  to  him  the  embodiment  of  bright 
and  graceful  young  womanhood.  When  he  was  with 
her,  he  used  half  to  wonder  whether  there  had  not 
been  some  huge  mistake  on  all  sides. 

As  the  summer  waned,  the  cottage  at  West  New- 
ton began  to  seem  to  Ray  Gathorpe  the  pleasantest 
place  in  the  world.  Even  his  own  Bylanes  lacked 
something  which  he  found  in  the  smaller  home. 
The  freedom  and  simplicity  of  the  life  here  formed 
one  of  its  greatest  attractions.  All  his  future  he 
must  remember  the  charming  little  suppers  they  had 
on  the  piazza,  embowered  in  the  greenery  of  shrubs 
and  vines,  while  the  old  garden  behind  filled  the  air 
with  the  sweet,  subtle  odors  of  ripening  flowers  and 
fruits,  and  the  sunset  slowly  dulled  into  the  pale 
saffrons  and  lavenders  of  twilight. 

338 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  339 

At  these  times,  the  spell  of  the  hour  and  place 
would  fall  upon  each ;  upon  Mrs.  Kent,  a  beautiful, 
matronly  presence  at  the  head  of  the  small  table ; 
upon  Dorrice,  cool  and  graceful  in  some  light  sum- 
mer-dress, the  glint  of  a  sunbeam  in  her  hair,  the 
glancing  of  a  shadow  on  the  curve  of  her  cheek ;  and 
upon  the  strong,  stalwart  young  men,  —  until  they 
all  waxed  merry,  and  told  stories,  and  the  brother 
and  sister  bantered  each  otheu  in  their  bright  way ; 
and  at  last  Mrs.  Kent  would  come  to  Dorrice's  res- 
cue, with  a  simulated  frown  and  a  warning,  "Now, 
Carryl,  stop  teasing  your  sister !  " 

One  morning,  Carryl  said  suddenly  to  Dorrice, 
"You  have  kept  the  letter-case  which  was  sent  us 
from  the  hospital  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Carryl." 

"  I  want  it." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  startled,  questioning  eyes ; 
but  she  did  not  speak  when  she  left  the  room,  or 
when  she  returned  and  placed  the  letter-case  in  his 
hands.  Still,  she  knew  perfectly  what  he  intended 
to  do  with  it. 

That  afternoon,  the  young  men  were  together 
again  in  the  corner  of  the  garden,  under  the  big 
cherry-tree. 

They  had  a  fancy  for  this  remote  nook,  and  always 
preferred  it  to  the  small  terraces  and  pretty  summer- 
houses  and  little,  shadow-dappled  grass-plots  that 
offered  such  tempting  lounging-places  nearer  the 
house.  But  this  was  the  first  time  they  had  come 
here,  since  that  memorable  scene,  more  than  three 
weeks  ago. 


340  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 


have  been  in  both  their  minds  as  they  set- 
tled themselves  in  the  familiar  place.  This  time 
Ray  stretched  himself  on  the  grass,  dim  and  cool 
with  shadows  ;  Carryl  was  on  the  little  rustic  bench 
beside  him. 

He  bent  over  suddenly,  and  placed  the  leather 
case  under  Ray's  eyes.  "Do  you  know  who  wrote 
that?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  a  card  which  lay  on  the 
silken  lining. 

Ray  took  the  card  up,  and  scanned  it  curiously. 
He  read  Carryl  Dacres'  name,  and  an  address,  in  a 
large,  scrawling  hand. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  you  wrote  it." 

"/did!  When?  where?"  staring  curiously  from 
the  card  —  a  good  deal  worn  round  the  edges  —  to 
his  companion's  face. 

"  You  wrote  it  at  our  first  meeting.  It  was  my 
address  at  that  time." 

Ray  drew  a  long  breath,  turned  over  the  case,  and 
inspected  it  curiously.  Then,  in  a  flash,  it  all  came 
back  to  him  ;  he  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment.  "  I 
lost  this,  Dacres.  I  remember  now.  How  did  you 
come  by  it  ?  " 

Carryl  stated,  briefly  as  possible,  that  a  woman,  on 
her  death-bed  at  the  hospital,  had  requested  it  should 
be  sent  to  him.  Her  husband  had  obtained  it  from 
one  of  his  cronies,  who,  he  suspected,  had  not  come 
by  it  honestly. 

This  statement,  of  course,  left  much  in  the  dark  ; 
but  Ray  hardly  perceived  that  at  the  moment,  he 
was  so  absorbed  with  his  own  train  of  recollections. 


A  BOSTON   GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  341 

"I  remember  perfectly  the  morning  thtot  I  lost  this. 
I  had  come  from  By  lanes  with  the  express  purpose 
of  searching  you  out.  When  I  reached  the  city, 
the  case  —  to  my  immense  amazement  and  chagrin 
—  was  gone.  I  was  forced  to  believe  that  I  had 
left  it  behind  ;  but  that  conclusion  did  not  just  sat- 
isfy me.  When  I  returned,  I  learned  of  my  uncle's 
illness.  It  was  his  last  one.  That  drove  everything 
else  from  my  mind.  But  before  I  sailed,  I  remem- 
bered ;  I  advertised  for  you ;  I  did  it  so  that  nobody 
but  yourself  could  understand;  but  nothing  came 
of  it." 

Long  before  this,  Ray  had  seated  himself  on  the 
grass  once  more. 

"  Is  that  true,  Gathorpe  ?  "  said  Carryl,  looking  at 
his  friend  with  an  unutterable  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Of  course,  it  is,  Dacres.  You  did  not  suppose 
I  could  forget !  " 

"  We  looked  for  you  a  long  while ;  but  we  were 
not  much  in  the  way  of  seeing  the  papers  at  that 
time."  Carryl's  words  came  with  difficulty. 

"  I  wanted  you  should  know  this,"  continued  Ray, 
"  after  what  I  learned  the  other  afternoon ;  but,  you 
see,  I -could  never  have  alluded  to  the  matter,  if  you 
had  not  spoken  first." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Drowsy  little  winds 
woke  and  went  to  sleep  again  among  the  leafy 
cherry-boughs.  A  yellow  shaft  of  sunlight  struck 
down  on  the  big  bole,  and  brought  out  all  the  knots 
and  wrinkles  of  the  old  bark.  Big  yellow  butter- 
flies, and  brown-belted  bees  flitted  about  in  the  dim, 
purplish  shadows. 


342  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

At  last  Carryl  spoke :  "  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  tell  you  a  long  story,  Gathorpe.  I  thought 
some  of  it  would  never  pass  my  lips.  But  it  seems 
your  right  to  know  all.  Can  you  have  patience  to 
listen  ?  " 

"  Patience,  Dacres !  " 

Sitting  on  the  grass,  silent,  motionless,  for  long 
spaces,  as  though  the  words  to  which  he  listened  had 
turned  him  to  stone,  Ray  Gathorpe  learned  the  story 
of  Carryl  Dacres'  youth.  But  he  did  not  begin 
with  himself,  but  with  his  parents :  and  the  confes- 
sion of  Madeline  Reeves  had  to  follow  in  its  place. 

The  problem  which  had  greatly  perplexed  Ray 
was  solved  at  last :  he  learned  how  the  changed  for- 
tunes had  come  about  with  the  rescue  of  little  Tom 
Hallowell  from  his  deadly  peril ;  and  afterward,  the 
current  of  the  story  ran  continually  smoother  and 
brighter,  until  it  reached  the  great  turning-point  in 
Carryl's  youth,  when  Deacon  Spinner  came  from 
Foxlow,  and,  as  the  result,  he  entered  Harvard. 

It  was  impossible  that  Carryl  should  not  have 
much  to  say  of  Dorrice.  The  fair,  girlish  figure 
moved  along  his  story,  and  illumined  its  darkest 
passages.  Always  her  deed  was  fine ;  always  her 
word  rung  true ;  and  it  was  with  her,  at  last,  that  the 
long  drama  concluded.  "Among  the  daughters  of 
Eve,  Gathorpe,  there  never  was  such  a  sister  as 
Dorrice  !  Only  I  can  know  what  splendid  pluck 
that  girl  carries  under  all  her  softness.  Come  to  the 
pinch,  she  would  put  most  of  us  fellows  to  shame." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  Dacres." 

At  last  the  young  men  rose.     While  Carryl  had 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  343 

been  talking,  the  dim  blue  shadows  had  gathered 
under  the  great  tree,  and  a  mass  of  low-lying,  fleecy 
clouds  in  the  west,  began  to  flush  into  deep  crimsons 
and  brighten  into  dazzling  yellows. 

Carryl  and  Ray  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
grasped  each  other's  hands ;  and  each  waited  for  the 
other  to  speak :  because  his  own  word  must  fall  so 
far  below  his  thought  and  feeling:  and  then  each 
found  that  the  silence  was  speaking  amply  for  him. 

As  they  went  up  to  the  house,  Ray  asked :  "  May 
I  keep  this  case,  Dacres  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  It  has  come  back  at  last  to  the  right 
owner." 

A  few  days  later,  Mrs.  Kent  said  suddenly  to 
Dorrice:  "Carryl  and  Ray  are  fond  of  each  other. 
You  must  see  that,  Dorrice." 

"  Oh,  yes !  " 

"  It  must  be  a  real  pleasure  to  you." 

"  Oh,  certainly !  " 

These  acquiescent  laconics  were  not  Dorrice's 
habit.  Mrs.  Kent  glanced  at  her,  and  saw  an  absent 
expression  on  her  face.  Dorrice  was  at  that  moment 
thinking  of  a  day  and  a  deed  which  would  go  far  to 
explain  the  young  men's  feeling  for  each  other. 

When  she  was  alone,  Mrs.  Kent  recalled  the  look, 
and  Dorrice's  replies.  A  thought  struck  her,  which 
made  her  rise,  and  move  about  the  room.  Had  she 
been  a  different  woman,  this  thought  would  have 
occurred  to  her  before.  Perhaps*her  native  shrewd- 
ness was  less  alert  too,  because  the  affection  of  the 
brother  and  sister  was  so  interwoven  in  the  life  and 
personality  of  each,  that  it  was  difficult  to  conceive 


344  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

of  its  being  supplanted  by  another,  deeper  and  more 
absorbing. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that  Dorrice  Dacres 
was  a  young  woman  made  for  love.  Mrs.  Kent 
believed  that  if  any  man  should  succeed  in  winning 
her,  he  would  have  reason  to  thank  God  every  day 
of  his  life.  But  Carryl  was  a  splendid  fellow,  and 
his  sister  had  a  tendency  to  ideals.  When  she  coin- 
pared  him  with  her  lovers,  they  naturally  were  at 
some  disadvantage  —  at  least,  they  all  had  been  — 
Mrs.  Kent  was  assured,  until  Ray  Gathorpe  ap- 
peared. 

The  lady's  secret  thoughts  as  she  moved  about  the 
chamber  summed  themselves  up,  at  last,  in  this  char- 
acteristic fashon  :  "  Now,  Esther  Kent,  you  absurd 
elderly  person,  don't !  Send  your  dreams  packing 
to  the  limbo  where  foolish  dreams  belong !  The  next 
time  you  take  to  building  castles  in  the  air,  will  you 
please  to  remember  your  years  !  They,  at  least,  will 
serve  to  remind  you  that  things  do  not  often  turn 
out  on  this  planet  as  they  do  in  the  last  chapter  of  a 
novel." 

That  evening,  Ray  and  Carryl  came  out.  It  was 
so  warm  that  more  than  half  of  it  was  spent  on  the 
west  piazza.  The  young  men  told  stories  of  their 
travels.  Some  of  these  were  so  amusing  that,  once 
or  twice,  people  passing  on  the  sidewalk  stopped  to 
listen  to  the  laughter  that  floated  out  into  the  night. 
It  was  only  when  they  went  inside  that  the  talk 
took  a  graver  tone. 

s    The  young  men  had  barely  started  for  the  train, 
when   Carryl   remembered   some    errand   which    in- 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  345 

volved  a  few  moments'  talk  with  Mrs.  Kent.  He 
stepped  back  to  the  house.  Ray  waited  for  him  out- 
side. An  instant  later,  and  Dorrice  slipped  out  of 
the  front  door.  Her  white  dress  gleamed  between 
the  shrubberies,  as  she  came  swiftly  down  the  path 
to  where  Ray  was  standing.  A  lamp  swung  from 
the  iron  arch  over  the  gate.  The  light  glanced  upon 
her  dark  hair,  and  caught  the  delicate  oval  of  her 
face,  just  as  it  had  on  the  night  when  Ray  first  saw 
her. 

"  Mr.  Gathorpe,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  rapid,  breath- 
less voice,  "I  wish  yon  would  not  look  at  me  as  — 
as  you  did  this  evening  !  " 

She  was  too  intent  on  her  meaning  to  be  careful 
of  the  words  that  attempted  to  convey  it. 

"  I  don't  understand  yon,  Miss  Dacres,"  Ray 
answered,  in  simple  amazement. 

"  I  know  Carryl  has  told  you  all  about  the  past, 
though  he  has  never  confessed  doing  so.  I  see,  by 
the  way  you  look,  that  you  remember  it  —  that  it 
troubles  you.  Do  forget  it,  please !  The  worst 
times  were  not  so  very  long,  and  from  the  worst  of 
all  you  saved  us !  " 

When  she  ceased  speaking,  there  was  such  a  rush 
and  tumult  of  emotion  within  him,  that  he  could  not 
find  a  word  to  sa}^.  He  could  only  see  her  standing 
there,  with  her  white  dress  gleaming  between  the 
shrubberies;  and  the  liglit  fell  on  her  hair,  on  her 
face,  and  there  was  a  beautiful  shining  in  her  eyes. 

It  was  like  her  —  this  brave,  generous  thing  that 
she  had  done  to  spare  him  farther  pain. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said,  at  last,  with  a  miser- 


346  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

able  consciousness  ho'w  utterly  bungling  and  inade- 
quate his  words  were,  "  to  come  out  here  to  say  this 
to  me!" 

"I  could  not  help  it,  Mr.  Gathorpe.  Mayn't  I 
take  your  promise  back  with  me?" 

"  That  I  will  try  and  forget  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  If  I  should  promise  that,  I  would  feel  it  was  a 
lie ;  but  I  shall  always  remember  what  you  have 
asked." 

There  was  not  time  for  another  word.  That  was 
Carryl's  stride  along  the  gravel.  Before  he  had 
caught  the  gleam  of  his  sister's  dress,  she  had  sprung 
into  a  side-path  which  led  up  to  the  house ;  and,  as 
she  disappeared  among  the  shrubberies,  she  heard 
him  calling,  "  Where  are  you,  Gathorpe  ?  " 


XLIV. 

ONE  morning,  Ray  Gathorpe  entered  Mrs.  Kent's 
sitting-room  through  a  window  which  opened  on  the 
west  piazza.  He  found  nobody  inside ;  but  his 
attention  was  at  once  attracted  to  a  new  portrait  on 
the  mantel-piece.  It  was  that  of  a  woman  in  the 
colonial  dress  of  the  early  part  of  the  last  century. 
The  face  that  looked  down  on  him  from  the  ancient 
canvas  had  a  rare  fineness  and  sweetness  of  expres- 
sion. It  had  evidently  passed  its  zenith.  The  hair, 
coiled  high  on  the  beautiful-shaped  head,  and 
lying  in  large,  soft  rolls  about  the  delicate  temples, 
was  heavily  frosted  with  gray,  and  there  were  hints 
of  wrinkles  about  the  corners  of  the  eyes  and  the 
firm,  sweet  mouth ;  but  the  face  still  retained  so 
much  of  its  bright  youth  fulness  of  expression  that  it 
was  not  difficult  to  imagine  what  it  had  been  in  its 
blossoming.  The  ancient  lady  was  dressed  in  a 
silver  brocade  of  richest  texture,  and  in  the  scant, 
stiff  lines  of  her  time.  A  kerchief,  whose  soft,  white 
folds,  thin  almost  as  mist,  were  drawn  over  her 
bosom,  showed  the  curve  of  her  neck  and  the  snowy 
throat. 

"  Only  a  daughter  of  the  Puritans  could  look  like 
that,"  said  Ray  to  himself,  as  he  stood  regarding  the 
portrait,  and  thinking  what  a  bewitching  spell  must 

347 


348  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

have  dwelt  in  those  sweet,  gray  eyes,  and  fancying 
he  traced  some  lines  of  family  resemjblance  between 
Mrs.  Kent  and  that  pictured  presence  over  the  man- 
tel-piece. 

There  was  a  sudden  stir  at  the  door,  and  Dorrice 
Dacres  came  into  the  room.  They  had  not  seen 
each  other  since  the  hurried  interview  in  the  moonlit 
gravel-path.  She  carried  a  large  vase  of  brilliant- 
hued  flowers.  Chief  followed  in  .her  wake,  with  a 
little  bark  of  welcome,  as  he  caught  sight  of  Kay, 
whom,  by  this  time,  he  recognized  as  one  of  the 
habitue's  of  the  cottage. 

"  You  were  looking  at  our  new  portrait  when  I 
came  in,"  said  Dorrice,  after  a  little  desultory  con- 
versation. The  guest  thought  that  she,  too,  made  a 
study  for  an  artist,  now  she  was  seated  in  the  big 
wicker-chair,  with  the  huge  mastiff  stretched  on  the 
rug  at  her  feet. 

"  Yes ;  it  would  have  struck  me  in  a  great  gallery 
of  fine  portraits.  I  should  have  said  there,  as  I  did 
just  now,  '  That  is  a  true  daughter  of  the  Puri- 
tans.' " 

"You  recognize  the  type,  then?"  said  Dorrice, 
with  the  light  which  a  sudden  pleasure  always 
brought  up  from  the  dark  depths  of  her  eyes. 
"  When  I  first  saw  the  portrait,  I  said,  '  It  is  a  face 
which  looks  as  though  it  might  have  walked  straight 
out  of  the  Mayflower  ! ' ' 

"Yes."  And  now  it  was  his  large,  gray  eyes  that 
smiled  upon  her.  "  You  have  perfectly  expressed  the 
character  of  the  face,  Miss  Dacres.  You  are  sure  it 
would  have  carried  its  calm  courage,  its  womanly 


A   BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  349 

sweetness,  through  all  that  dreadful  voyage.  But 
why  has  Mrs.  Kent  kept  a  picture  like  that  in  hiding 
so  long?" 

Dorrice  explained  that  it  had  come  to  her  only 
recently,  through  a  cousin  who  had  died.  It  was  the 
portrait  of  Mrs.  Kent's  great-great-aunt. 

"  It  is  singular,"  said  Dorrice,  after  a  little  pause, 
during  which  they  had  both  gazed  at  the  picture, 
"  how  one  gets  to  feel,  after  a  while,  toward  a  portrait 
that  really  interests  one.  It  seems  as  though  I  must 
have  known  the  woman  whose  face  smiles  on  me  up 
there,  long  and  intimately.  .  I  come  here  sometimes, 
and  stand  before  her,  and  try  to  imagine  what  she 
was,  how  she  thought  and  felt  and  lived,  until  I 
quite  believe  she  would  not  be  a  stranger  to  me,  if 
she  should  step  down  out  of  that  canvas,  and  take 
my  hand  in  her  small,  white  one.  I  am  convinced, 
at  such  times,  that  I  know  a  good  deal  about  her 
personality,  her  history,  though  a  century  and  a  half 
lie  between  us.  I  try,  too,  to  get  some  idea  of  her 
surroundings ;  of  the  things  she  saw  and  loved ;  of 
the  daily  life  she  led.  I  fancy  I  know  a  little  some- 
thing of  the  Boston  of  her  time :  the  small,  bustling, 
seaport  town,  with  its  narrow  streets,  its  little  gabled 
houses,  and  its  old-world  social  atmosphere." 

"  That  fair,  ancient  lady  lived  in  stirring  times, 
too,"  subjoined  Ray,  beguiled  into  the  current  of 
Dorrice's  talk.  "She  was  a  subject  of  the  last 
of  the  Stuarts,  of  the  first  of  the  Brunswicks. 
We  may  be  sure  she  took  a  vital  interest  in  the 
downfall  of  one  House,  the  accession  of  the  other. 
These  were  facts  full  of  tremendous  issues,  in  that 


850  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

day,  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  on  our  strip  of 
Atlantic  seaboard.  How  little  we  can  realize  all 
that  now !  But  I  will  answer  for  the  lady  up  there, 
that  she  was  loyal,  heart  and  soul,  to  her  new 
Hanover  sovereign." 

Dorrice  laughed.  "  No  question  of  that,  with  her 
training  and  traditions.  But  the  bewildering  part  of 
it  all  is  that  she  should  seem  so  near  at  one  moment, 
such  ages  off  at  another.  If  I  should  speak  to  her 
of  George  Washington  or  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the 
names  would  have  no  meaning  for  her.  It  is  difficult 
to  feel  they  were  not  born  when  that  portrait  was 
painted." 

"  Undoubtedly ;  and  how  about  your  favorite  au- 
thors, Miss  Dacres  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  we  should  be  more  at  home  there  !  She 
must  have  known  some  of  the  greatest  of  those.  I 
have  a  happy  conviction  that  she  had  read  Dante  and 
Chaucer,  Spenser  and  Shakespeare." 

"I  like  to  agree  with  you,"  said  Ray.  "At  all 
events,  some  of  their  drama  and  poetry  must  have 
been  born  in  the  soul  of  the  woman  with  that  face. 
She  must  have  lived  them,  too,  despite  the  stern  old 
times  in  which  her  lot  fell." 

"  My  own  great-great-grandmother,  Anna  Ranger, 
lived  in  them,  too.  She  owned  a  part  of  Winter 
Street.  Sometimes,  when  I  go  about  it  now,  I  try  to 
think  what  it  was  like  then." 

Before  Ray  could  reply,  Mrs.  Kent  entered  the 
room,  accompanied  by  Carryl,  who  had  recently  ap- 
peared. 

With  their  advent  on  the   scene,  the  talk  took 'a 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  351 

different  and  livelier  vein.  It  was  rather  curious 
that  when  young  Gathorpe  and  Dorrice  were  alone 
the  conversation  usually  fell  into  a  serious  mood. 

But  now  the  talk  waxed  merry,  with  frequent 
bursts  of  laughter.  In  the  course  of  it,  Carryl,  with 
the  unconsciousness  of  long  habit,  once  addressed 
his  sister  as  Portia. 

"What  did  you  call  her  then  ?  "  asked  Ray. 

Carryl  explained.  In  the  old  days,  when  they  read 
Shakespeare  together,  he  had  been  much  in  the  habit 
of  calling  his  sister  Portia.  He  insisted  that  this 
was  the  one  of  Shakespeare's  heroines  -vhom  Dorrice 
most  resembled. 

Ray  did  not  see  fit  to  avow  on  this  occasion  that 
of  all  Shakespeare's  women  Portia  had  been  his  own 
favorite. 

In  a  moment,  Dorrice  said,  "  But  though  I  was 
persecuted  with  a  legion  of  names,  they  were  not 
always  so  immensely  flattering  as  that  one." 

"  What  —  if  a  fellow  may  be  bold  enough  to  ask  — 
were  some  of  the  others,  Miss  Dacres?  "  inquired  Ray. 

"  Oh,  classic,  mediaeval,  and  modern  literature  had 
to  be  ransacked  for  them,"  she  replied,  gayly.  "I 
was  Athene's  Owl,  if  I  happened  to  look  grave ;  or 
Cassandra,  when  I  did  not  see  things  through  Carryl 's 
rose-colored  lights ;  or  Boadicea,  when-  I  was  bent, 
heart  and  soul,  on  carrying  out  some  plan  about 
which  he  had  wise  doubts;  or  Beatrice,  if  I  said 
something  which  struck  him  as  particularly  nert ;  or 
I  was  a  patient  Griselda  in  my  amiable  moods,  and, 
alas!  in  his  cross  ones,  I  was  Xantippe  or  —  Susan 
Nipper." 


352  A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS. 

Her  auditors  laughed  heartily  ;  and  then  Carryl 
said,  with  portentous  solemnity:  "After  all,  the 
worst  charge  I  could  bring  against  her  was  one  I 
never  dared  to  breathe  in  those  days.  She  kept  a 
fellow  so  dreadfully  on  his  mettle  !  Her  '  enormous 
ideals'  made  her  demands  on  ordinary  human  nature 
terribly  hard  at  times.  Somehow  she  had  a  way  of 
making  a  fellow  feel  that  if  he  fell  short  of  them,  he 
would  stand  convicted  —  the  veriest  poltroon  —  be- 
fore earth  and  high  Heaven." 

"Oh,  Carryl,  is  that  true?"  exclaimed  Dorrice, 
quite  forgetful  of  everybody  but  himself,  as  she 
turned  to  him  with  radiant  eyes.  "  I  never  dreamed 
of  it ;  but  I  am  so  glad  to  know." 

"Why?" 

"  Because,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  exultant  tone,  "  if 
I  made  such  high  demands,  you  did  not  —  as  a  whole 
—  fail  them!" 

Carryl  made  a  wry  face ;  but  there  was  a  touch  of 
embarrassment,  and  something  deeper  than  that,  in 
his  laugh.  "  I  strike  my  colors,  Dorrice,"  he  said. 
"  A  fellow  can't  do  less  before  such  delicate  flattery ; 
but  it  all  comes  of  your  feminine  arts.  If  I  were 
not  as  hopeless  an  ass  as  Titania's  love,  I  never 
should  attempt,  after  my  experience,  to  enter  into 
another  argument  with  you.  It  is  certain  as  the  law 
of  gravitation,  that  I  shall  be  worsted." 

There  was  another  laugh;  and  Mrs.  Kent  said, 
"  Now,  children,  stop  all  this  nonsense,  and  come  out 
to  lunch." 


XLV. 

IT  was  not  surprising  that  when  the  summer 
closed,  it  left  the  inmates  of  the  cottage  at  West 
Newton  where  it  had  found  them. 

Mrs.  Kent  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  ex- 
change the  freedom  and  quiet  of  her  own  home,  for 
the  gay  crowds,  the  confined  rooms,  and  the  daily 
excitements,  of  the  summer-resorts. 

To  Dorrice's  healthy  organization  of  soul  and 
body  frequent  changes  of  scene  and  climate  were  not 
essential;  and,  with  all  her  delight  in  shore  and 
mountain  scenery,  she  did  not  hanker  for  these,  so 
long  as  there  was  a  chance  of  seeing  Carryl  each 
day. 

But  early  in  September,  young  Gathorpe  came  out 
with  a  proposal  which  took  everybody  by  surprise. 
This  was  nothing  less  than  that  Mrs.  Kent  and  Dor- 
rice  should  come  to  Bylanes  for  several  weeks. 
Ray  was  very  much  in  earnest  in  this  matter.  He 
had  invited  no  visitors  since  his  return  home.  But 
the  domestic  service  had  now  resumed  its  old  order 
and  activity.  Ray  was  eager  for  some  of  the  former 
life  and  brightness  in  the  silent  old  rooms.  Indeed, 
he  pleaded  for  this  visit  as  a  special  favor  to  himself. 

Mrs.  Kent  had,  in  other  days,  been  frequently  at 
Bylanes,  so  that  going  there  did  not  seem  like  an 

353 


354  A  BOSTON  GIKL'S  AMBITIONS. 

ordinary  visit.  Dorrice,  too,  had  heard  enough  about 
the  Gathorpes'  home  to  have  a  curiosity  to  see  it. 
Ray's  invitation  included  Carryl,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  who  was  to  pare  off  a  day  here  and  there 
from  his  studies,  and  run  out  to  Bylanes  at  odd 
times,  precisely  as  he  did  to  West  Newton. 

"  Well,  Ray,  you  have  conquered ! "  Mrs.  Kent 
playfully  saluted  the  young  man  the  next  time  he 
presented  himself.  "  That  means  we  have  decided  to 
come  to  Bylanes  for  a  week." 

"  A  week  ! "  he  repeated,  incredulously.  "  Do  you 
imagine,  when  I  have  once  got  you  fairly  under  the 
old  roof-tree,  I  shall  let  you  go  from  it  in  less  than 
a  month?" 

It  was  in  the  second  week  of  September  that 
Mrs.  Kent  and  Dorrice  Dacres  went  to  Bylanes. 
The  young  woman  was  much  impressed  with  her 
first  glance  at  the  stately  stone  house,  amid  its 
noble  grounds,  as  she  caught  sight  of  it  from  the 
road.  As  she  drew  nearer,  the  first  effect  was 
heightened  by  its  mingled  expression  of  solidity 
and  simplicity. 

It  was  now  the  most  perfect  weather  of  the  year. 
The  sultry  heats  had  passed,  and  though  the  days 
were  bathed  in  rich,  sunny  atmospheres,  these  held 
also  the  first  fine,  bracing  tonic  of  the  autumn.  The 
sky  was  a  deep,  shining,  mysterious  azure,  unlike  all 
other  azures  of  the  year.  It  had  a  calm,  brooding 
peace.  It  was  impossible  to  gaze  on  it  and  not 
think  of  heaven. 

Then  there  was  the  wide  land,  green  with  that 
last  rich,  dazzling  green,  just  before  the  frosts  steal 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  355 

in,  and  illuminate  it  with  more  than  the  glory  of 
sunrise  and  sunset.  Soft,  fragrant  winds  wandered 
through  the  golden  air.  In  it  happy  bees  mur- 
mured; through  it  butterflies  flashed  —  sparks  of 
crimson  and  gold  and  mottled  red.  The  year  in 
these  restful,  luminous,  September  days  had  attained 
its  crowning  mood  —  the  joy  and  serenity  of  accom- 
plished work.  The  great  miracle  of  its  summer 
had  been  finished  once  more,  and  it  was  good. 

To  Dorrice  Dacres  the  interior  of  Bylanes  was 
full  of  a  mystical  charm  and  sentiment.  It  appealed 
to  her  imagination,  as  though  something  that  was 
best  and  finest  in  each  year  of  its  three-quarters  of  a 
century  still  lingered  among  the  wide  rooms  and 
winding  staircases  of  the  solid  old  New  England 
mansion.  Its  dark,  rich,  ancient  furnishings,  its 
portraits  of  dead  Gathorpes  —  old  and  young  — 
hanging  in  alcoves,  and  in  the  great  drawing-room, 
seemed  to  her  to  pervade  the  house  with  a  certain 
magnetism  and  romance. 

This  was  all  the  more  powerful  because  she  had 
never  stood  in  grand  cathedrals  and  old  castles  and 
ancient  palaces.  But  something  of  the  charm  and 
mystery  which  she  had  always  dreamed  must  haunt 
them,  appeared  to  hover  about  this  fascinating  old 
house. 

But  the  interior  could  not  long  hold  her  from  the 
enchantment  of  the  world  outside.  She  spent  much 
of  each  day  exploring  the  wide  grounds,  leaving  no 
nook  or  corner  unvisited.  The  broad  lawns,  the 
high  hedges,  the  magnificent  old  trees,  the  great 
gardens  and  orchard,  with  their  ripening  fruits,  were 


356  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

each  a  surprise  and  delight  to  her.  But  after  she 
had  grown  thoroughly  acquainted  with  these,  she 
wandered  off  into  lovely  woodland  ways,  among  the 
shade-flecked  copses  and  dingles,  and  into  the  great, 
solemn  aisles  of  the  pine-woods. 

Dorrice  went  often,  too,  into  the  deep,  grassy  old 
lanes  which  gave  the  Gathorpe  estate  its  name,  and 
which  girdled  it,  and  crossed  its  meadows,  and  dip]  KM  I 
into  the  heart  of  its  low  hills,  and  slipped  past  its 
copses  and  knolls,  — old  sunny  lanes,  narrow  and  still, 
and  beautiful  with  leafage  of  trees  and  vines,  and 
carpeted  with  all  New  England's  late  wild-flowering 
of  clematis  and  golden-rod,  of  blue  asters  and  pur- 
ple hardhack. 

The  details  of  these  days  would  fill  a  hundred 
chapters.  They  were  full  of  vivid,  joyous  life,  not 
only  to  the  guests,  but  to  their  young  host.  Ray 
drove  them  for  miles  and  miles,  about  the  beautiful, 
varied  country,  and  down  to  the  sea;  he  was  eager 
that  they  should  miss  no  picturesque  point,  no  wide 
sweep  of  landscape,  no  vista  that  stretched  far  and 
dim  through  shady,  sun-flecked  aisles  of  forest,  or 
wound  between  the  hills  to  the  horizon. 

Ray  never  asked  himself  whether  it  was  the  pres- 
ence of  Dorrice  Dacres  beneath  his  roof,  which  im- 
parted to  these  days  some  new  quality,  which  no 
other  days  of  his  life  had  known.  He  was  only" 
aware  that  it  was  a  novel  pleasure  to  come  upon  the 
slender  figure  in  gray,  in  some  corner  of  the  grounds, 
and  see  the  dark  eyes  shine  luminous  upon  him  from 
under  the  shade-hat.  He  liked  to  watch  her  come  to 
the  breakfast-table,  too,  in  some  simple  morning- 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  357 

dress  —  a  white  flannel  for  instance  —  where  every 
line  and  fold  had  caught  some  of  the  wearer's  indi- 
viduality. 

Dorrice,  on  her  part,  gave  herself  up  to  the  en- 
chantment of  these  days.  She  thought  they  must 
hold  the  quintessence  of  all  the  life  and  beauty  of  a 
hundred  Septembers.  She  was  so  radiantly  happy, 
so  glad  to  be  alive  in  every  fibre  of  her  body,  every 
throb  of  her  heart. 

It  was  several  days  after  the  arrival  of  his  guests, 
before  Ray  introduced  them  to  the  breakfast-room, 
as  it  was  still  called,  though  this  was  very  much  a 
misnomer.  Over  the  mantel  hung  a  portrait  of  his 
uncle,  painted  the  year  before  he  died.  The  grand 
face,  the  deep,  piercing  eyes  under  the  black  brows, 
with  the  snowy  hair  and  shining  beard,  formed  a 
most  impressive  picture.  It  gave  a  distinct  charac- 
ter to  the  room.  It  seemed  to  pervade  it  with  a  noble 
presence. 

Carryl  was  at  Bylanes  that  night.  He  and  Dor- 
rice  stood  together  for  some  time,  gazing  silently  at 
this  picture.  They  could  not  keep  their  eyes  from 
it.  At  last  Carryl  said,  speaking  half  to  himself: 
"  That  seems  to  me  one  of  the  faces  that  give  a  new 
meaning  and  nobleness  to  life.  The  longer  one 
looks  at  it,  the  more  one  feels  any  heroic  deed  is 
possible." 

At  that  speech,  Ray  turned  and  smiled  on  him ; 
he  had  a  rare  smile  when  his  heart  was  stirred.  It 
was  the  smile,  too,  which  always  brought  out  his 
subtle  resemblance  to  his  uncle. 

It  seemed  to  Dorrice,  though  she  did  not  say  this 


358  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

at  the  time,  that  the  house  which  held  such  a  por- 
trait ought  to  have  a  larger,  nobler  life,  —  that  to  be 
in  its  presence  daily  must  have  its  effect  —  lift  one 
to  a  plane  of  sweeter,  higher  thoughts  and  moods. 

Mrs.  Kent  had  given  a  little  cry  when  she  first  saw 
this  portrait.  Then  she  stood  still,  gazing  at  it  with 
wet,  solemn  eyes.  She  almost  believed  that  her  old 
friend  would  step  out  of  that  canvas  and  take  her 
hand,  and  look  at  her  with  the  old  smile  in  his  keen, 
kindly  eyes. 

This  room  had  been  a  sacred  place  to  Ray  since 
his  uncle  died.  There  were  few  people  he  ever 
brought  into  it.  But  after  that  first  visit,  he  and 
his  guests  formed  a  habit  of  coming  here  at  night. 

By  this  time,  Carryl  and  Dorrice  had  discovered 
that  young  Gathorpe  must  be  the  heir  of  vastly 
greater  wealth  than  they  had  at  first  imagined.  Al- 
though it  appeared  almost  fabulous  to  them,  they 
were  of  too  fine  quality  to  be  dazed  by  it.  But  a 
new  light  was  shed  for  Dorrice  on  the  talk  which 
she  and  young  Gathorpe  had  on  the  morning  when 
they  drove  to  Belmont. 

Ray  had  a  habit  of  bantering  Carryl  about  his  pro- 
fession. One  day  he  said  to  him,  half  in  jest,  half 
in  earnest :  "  Make  haste,  Dacres,  and  get  your  ad- 
mission to  the  bar.  I  want  to  give  you  your  first 
case." 

It  struck  Carryl  then,  in  a  half  amused  way,  that 
it  would  go  far  to  reconcile  Hallowell  to  his  having 
given  up  his  business  career,  if  he  could  know  he 
had  secured  such  a  future  client  as  young  Gathorpe. 


XL  VI. 

IT  was  curious  how  soon  Dorrice  formed  a  habit 

• 

of  going  to  the  stable  each  morning.  Mrs.  Kent 
often  accompanied  her ;  so  did  Ray,  unless  business 
affairs  summoned  him  to  the  city,  when  he  was  com- 
pelled to  make  his  excuses  to  the  ladies,  and  leave 
them  to  their  own  devices  and  the  care  of  the 
housekeeper. 

One  of  the  traditional  charms  of  Bylanes  had  been 
th<3  perfect  freedom  which  it  allowed  its  guests. 

But  Dorrice's  habit  could  not  have  been  a  surprise 
to  those  who  knew  her  best.  Her  love  of  animals 
amounted  to  a  passion.  It  had  been  one  of  the  sorest 
denials  of  her  life  that  she  was  cut  off  from  any 
indulgence  of  this ;  at  least,  until  she  came  to  Mrs. 
Kent's,  where  Dapple  and  Chief  had  at  once  become 
great  favorites  with  the  young  woman. 

Dorrice  had  not  been  at  Bylanes  many  days  before 
she  and  Titan  —  the  huge,  yellow-brown  St.  Bernard 
which  Ray  had  brought  from  abroad  —  were  the 
best  of  friends. 

Indoors,  his  grand  old  head  was  often  in  her  lap, 
and  her  arms  about  his  neck ;  while  the  big  creature 
followed  her  about  the  grounds  much  as  Chief  did 
at  home. 

359 


3GO  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Among  the  half-dozen  horses  in  the  stalls  were  two 
which  Dorrice  specially  admired.  One  of  these  Ray 
usually  rode.  He  was  a  large,  superbly  built  crea- 
ture —  a  light  bay,  strong  as  a  lion,  and  fleet  as  a 
deer.  This  was  Hercules.  The  other  was  Wizard  — 
a  small,  perfectly  formed  mare,  with  a  coat  of  glossi- 
est jet,  and  black,  weird,  fiery  eyes,  with  an  intelli- 
gence that  seemed  almost  human. 

The  beautiful  little  mare,  all  grace  and  motion, 
soon  grew  to  know  Dorrice.  She  would  whinny  at 
the  young  woman's  approach,  and  run  her  slender 
nose  into  the  soft,  caressing  palm. 

One  morning,  Mrs.  Kent  and  the  young  people 
were  in  the  grounds  when  the  coachman  passed  their 
way  with  Wizard.  Dorrice  hurried  off  to  the  mare, 
and,  while  she  was  stroking  the  slender,  glossy  neck, 
her  companions  came  up,  and,  watching  her  for  a 
moment,  Ray  said,  suddenly,  "Surely,  you  must 
have  learned  to  ride,  Miss  Dacres." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so,  Mr.  Gathorpe  ?  " 

"  Because  of  all  your  ways  with  a  horse." 

"  I  did  learn  at  Foxlow.  I  used  to  canter  off, 
among  the  rough  hill-roads,  on  Sorrel,  Deacon 
Spinner's  old  mare ;  Carryl  and  I  used  to  ride  the 
colts,  too,  sometimes." 

Mrs.  Kent  listened  to  the  speech  with  surprise. 
She  understood  perfectly  why  Dorrice  had  always 
kept  silent  with  regard  to  this  accomplishment.  She 
was  aware,  too,  that  it  was  in  Ray's  thought,  almost 
on  his  lips,  to  invite  her  to  ride  with  him.  Then  a 
thought  flashed  across  him  ;  he  changed  the  conver- 
sation abruptly.  Mrs.  Kent  was  certain,  too,  that 


A    BOSTON   GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  361 

Don-ice  had  forgotten  herself  a  moment,  in  that  old 
reminiscence. 

A  little  later,  the  lady  was  saying  to  herself  in 
her  own  room  :  "  I  must  put  that  pain  behind  me  ; 
I  cannot  see  their  young  lives  miss  a  great  pleasure 
because  of  my  memories." 

She  had  a  long  talk  with  the  coachman  that  day. 
The  man  corroborated  all  his  master  had  said  of 
Wizard's  perfect  gentleness,  despite  her  fire  and 
fleetness. 

The  next  morning,  Mrs.  Kent  sent  some  orders  to 
her  dressmaker.  A  few  days  later,  a  box  arrived, 
which  contained  a  riding-dress  of  fine,  heavy  wool 
texture,  in  a  rich,  dark-green  tint,  that  looked  black 
in  the  shadows.  There  was  a  small  hat  of  the  same 
shade,  surmounted  with  a  little  upright  feather. 

She  took  the  box  to  Dorrice's  room.  "I  want  you 
to  wear  these,  my  dear,  when  —  when  the  time 
comes,"  she  said ;  and  she  went  away. 

A  little  later,  Don#ce  came  to  Mrs.  Kent's  cham- 
ber ;  her  face  was  all  aglow  with  surprise  and 
pleasure,  and  touched  with  something  deeper  than 
these.  She  put  her  arms  about  her  friend.  "  How 
good  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

That  evening,  Mrs.  Kent  said  to  Ray,  "  I  want 
you  to  take  Dorrice  out  on  Wizard  to-morrow." 

He  looked  in  her  eyes  a  moment  without  speak- 
ing. Then  he  said,  —  and  his  voice,  like  Dorrice's, 
made  the  speech  much  to  her  ear  and  heart, — "How 
good  you  are,  dear  Mrs.  Kent !  " 


XL  VII. 

ONE  afternoon  the  young  people  rode  down  to  the 
sea.  The  old  training  among  the  rough  hill-roads 
served  Dorrice  now.  She  managed  her  horse 
admirably ;  but  they  understood  why  Mrs.  Kent 
did  not  come  to  the  door  to  see  them  set  out. 

The  tall,  pliant  figure,  in  its  dark,  perfectly  fitting 
riding-dress,  mounted  on  the  small  mare,  black  as 
though  all  her  delicate  lines  had  been  cut  from 
ebony,  formed  a  superb  grouping.  Ray  rode  Her- 
cules, whose  magnificent  build  and  bay  color  were 
such  a  contrast  to  his  companion. 

The  afternoon  was  perfect.  It  was  suffused  with 
a  warm,  dreamy  haze.  By  this  time,  September  had 
begun  to  vary  and  deepen  the  colors  of  her  palette. 
The  low  vines  among  the  hills  and  pastures  were 
edged  with  russets  and  rich  clarets.  Crimsons  and 
maroons  flashed  among  the  maples.  The  oaks  and 
elms  had  frequent  dashes  of  pale  lemon  or  brilliant 
gold.  Here  and  there  a  tree  wore  a  great  baldric  of 
fiery  red.  When  the  south  winds  fluttered  the 
leaves  of  the  white  birches,  it  seemed  as  though 
swarms  of  golden  bees  had  settled  among  the  pale 
greens. 

They  took  a  roundabout  way,  which  led  them 
through  a  varied,  beautiful  landscape,  more  or  less 

362 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  363 

illuminated  with  autumn  color.  The  road  ran 
through  deep-shaded  forests,  by  the  banks  of  brooks, 
into  stretches  of  dreamy  woodlands,  and  skirted  low 
hills,  and  cleft  the  long  meadow-opens.  The  horses 
went  over  the  road  at  a  smart  gallop.  It  was  won- 
derful how  that  slight-built  mare  held  her  own  by  the 
side  of  Hercules.  He  seemed  formed  to  move  at  the 
head  of  grand  triumphal  processions,  where  drums 
beat  and  banners  waved.  The  few  people  on  the 
lonely  roads  stopped  and  stared  at  the  riders,  as  they 
swept  by  —  the  one,  strong,  erect,  shapely,  the  very  - 
embodiment  of  young,  triumphant  manhood,  as  his 
companion  was  of  graceful  young  womanhood. 

Dorrice  was  intoxicated  with  the  motion,  the  life 
and  loveliness  of  the  afternoon.  Her  mood  of  radi- 
ant, irrepressible  gayety  was  one  which  Ray  had 
never  encountered  on  those  occasions  when  they 
had  been  alone  together;  but  it  was  contagious, 
and  that  hour  and  a  half's  ride  to  the  sea  was  filled 
with  sparkling  talk  and  merriment  for  both. 

At  the  end  of  this  time,  a  sharp  turn  in  the  road 
brought  them  out  from  the  dun  shadows  and  dreami- 
ness of  the  pine-woods,  to  the  beach  —  a  sandy 
stretch,  glittering  gray  in  the  sunlight,  with  piles  of 
gaunt,  jagged  rocks  on  one  side,  their  steely  gray 
broken  up  in  places  by  patches  of  moss  and  lichen. 

The  two  reined  in  their  horses,  and  looked  off  at 
the  vast,  tumbling,  blue-green  world  before  them. 
The  sight  held  Dorrice  silent  for  a  few  moments ; 
then  she  turned  to  her  companion,  and  said,  in  a 
graver  tone  than  she  had  used  for  the  last  hour,  "  It 
looks  as  the  sea  did  the  first  time  I  saw  it." 


364  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

"  When  was  that,  Miss  Dacres  ?  " 

"  It  was  during  that  first  week  after  we  came  to 
Boston.  We  went  down  to  Nantasket  one  afternoon, 
and  so  had  our  first  sight  of  the  ocean.  What  that 
was  to  our  inland  eyes ! " 

"  I  am  curious  to  know  the  first  thing  you  said  on 
that  occasion.  Can  you  remember?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  everything  that  happened  at 
that  time ;  but  I  said  nothing  worth  repeating." 

"I  would  rather  judge  for  myself,  if  you  will 
kindly  permit  me,  Miss  Dacres." 

"  I  said  to  Carryl,  as  soon  as  I  could  find  breath  or 
voice  for  speaking,  '  Would  you  believe  this  little 
world  could  go  rolling  on,  night  and  day,  and  carry 
such  a  glorious  splendor  as  this ! ' ' 

Ray  smiled.  "  If  I  had  heard  the  speech,  I  should 
have  known  who  made  it." 

"You  should!" 

"Yes;  it  is  so  characteristic." 

"One  never  knows,  I  suppose,  about  one's  own 
speeches.  I  was  very  young  at  that  time ;  it  is 
almost  eight  years  ago."  Her  tone  implied  there 
was  something  to  be  apologized,  or,  at  least,  ac- 
counted for. 

They  spent  some  time  on  the  beach,  watching  the 
color  of  the  sky  and  rocks  and  water,  the  light  on 
the  sails  of  the  sloops  and  schooners;  while  the 
pretty  little  rowboats  from  the  hotels,  lent  a  pleasant 
aspect  of  human  life  and  interest  to  the  sea.  Into 
their  talk,  and  into  their  silence,  came  the  soft  lap- 
ping of  waves  on  the  beach  and  about  the  rocks. 

At  last,  they  turned  their  horses'  heads  homeward, 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  365 

Ray  intending  to  take  the  shortest  road  to  Bylanes 
this  time.  On  the  highway,  half  a  mile  from  the 
beach,  stood  a  small  yellow  house,  with  some  sun- 
flowers and  a  stunted  lilac-tree  in  the  front  yard.  A 
man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  leaning  on  the  gate,  watched 
the  two,  with  a  rather  vacant  stare  in  his  light  blue 
eyes.  He  no  doubt  took  them  for  summer  visitors  at 
the  seaside  hotel,  a  mile  away. 

But,  in  a  flash,  a  light  of  pleased  recognition  came 
into  the  dull  eyes.  The  man's  lips  parted  ;  he  made 
an  awkward  signal  to  Ray,  and  came  out  of  the  gate 
with  unusual  alacrity  —  a  rather  gaunt,  loose-jointed, 
shambling  figure,  with  thin,  intermittent  tufts  of 
flax-colored  beard  about  his  cheek  and  chin. 

Ray  stopped  his  horse,  and  looked  curiously  at  the 
man,  who  put  up  a  big-boned,  freckled  hand.  "Don't 
you  know  me,  Mr.  Gathorpe  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  can't  say  I  have  that  pleasure,  sir,"  Ray  replied, 
with  his  invariable  courtesy  to  inferiors. 

"  You  ain't  forgot  the  day  you  went  diggin'  clams 
along  o'  me !  It  was  fifteen  year  ago  last  month." 

In  a  flash,  it  was  all  back  to  Ray.  He  had  come 
down  to  the  shore  on  some  errand  for  his  uncle,  and 
stopped,  partly  out  of  good  nature,  partly  for  amuse- 
ment, to  have  a  chat  with  the  man,  who  was  digging 
clams  on  the  point;  and,  full  of  boyish  eagerness  for 
some  novel  experience,  he  had  suddenly  proposed 
taking  a  hand  at  the  work. 

He  and  Abijah  Eaves  had  dug  clams  together  in 
the  wet  sands  for  the  next  two  hours.  Ray  had  en- 
joyed the  thing  hugely ;  and  his  high  spirits  and  his 
bright  talk  and  the  novel  event  had  made  a  lasting 


366  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

impression,  on  the  dull  imagination  of  Abijah  Eaves. 
The  man  was  never  tired  of  relating  "  how  he  and 
Squire  Gathorpe's  nephew  had  dug  their  half-bushel 
of  clams  together  on  Bayberry  P'int ;  and  how  my 
young  gentleman  rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and 
went  into  the  work,  lively  as  though  he  was  born  to 
it,  and  kept  a  fellow's  sides  shakin'  with  his  'cute  talk 
about  clams,  and  things  in  gin'ral." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  remember  perfectly,  Mr.  Eaves.  You 
and  I  had  some  capital  fun  that  day,"  and  Ray  shook 
hands  cordially  with  the  companion  of  that  old  lark 
of  his  boyhood. 

Some  other  talk  naturally  followed.  Dorrice  paced 
slowly  up  the  road,  until  Ray  should  rejoin  her.  But 
the  motion  and  excitement  of  the  afternoon  were 
astir  within  her.  Every  sense  was  alert;  every 
breath  was  a  keen  delight.  A  spirit  of  wild  adven- 
ture seized  and  carried  the  young  woman  out  of  her- 
self. She  spurred  Wizard  forward,  and,  in  an  instant, 
horse  and  rider  went  dashing  up  the  long  sandy 
stretch  of  highway,  between  the  hemlocks  and  cedars 
on  either  side. 

What  a  wild,  delicious,  exhilarating  moment  it 
was !  Heart  and  brain  were  on  fire ;  every  nerve 
was  tingling  with  the  fierce  joy  of  the  race.  Wizard 
bent  to  it,  with  arching  neck  and  flying  hoofs,  until 
the  little  black  mare,  like  the  creatures  of  the  wild 
old  legends,  appeared  to  sweep  through  the  air. 

Ray  Gathorpe  suddenly  caught  sight  of  the  girl. 
All  her  graceful,  pliant  lines  were  outlined  against 
the  sunset,  into  which  she  seemed  to  be  riding.  The 
low  western  clouds  had  changed  into  heaps  of  daz- 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  367 

zling  color  —  richest  crimsons  and  burnished  gold, 
with  a  long  stretch  between  of  that  rare,  luminous 
green  sky,  which  has  such  an  indescribable  depth  and 
loveliness. 

Ray  suddenly  paused  in  his  talk ;  he  devoured 
the  swift-flying  figure  witli  all  his  eyes  —  with  all 
his  soul.  At  that  moment,  he  was  only  conscious 
that  Dorrice  Dacres  was  going  away  from  him,  and 
that  all  there  was  of  him  —  heart,  and  soul,  and 
manhood  —  was  going  after  her,  with  fierce,  over- 
mastering passion,  to  claim  and  hold  her,  against  the 
universe,  for  his  own.  Would  she  vanish  forever, — 
riding  away  into  that  splendor  of  sunset,  —  this  won- 
derful, ethereal  creature,  who  was,  in  herself,  the 
poetry  and  perfume,  the  joy  and  glory,  of  life  ?  He 
felt  that  the  world  without  her  would  be  utterly 
empty,  desolate,  flavorless.  The  passion  of  his 
strong  young  manhood  beat  hot  in  every  pulse,  as 
he  watched  the  dark,  slender  figure,  in  its  flying 
race,  between  black  lines  of  cedars  and  hemlocks, 
toward  the  burning  sunset.  His  face  flushed  and 
grew  pale.  It  came  upon  him,  with  the  force  of  a 
conviction  that  years  could  not  make  clearer  or 
deeper.  In  the  whole  world,  in  time  or  eternity, 
there  could  be  but  one  woman  for  him ;  and  she  was 
Dorrice  Dacres. 

He  returned,  with  a  kind  of  shock,  to  the  present 
—  to  the  round-shouldered,  shambling  figure,  in  its 
shirt-sleeves,  by  the  side  of  Hercules.  The  man  was 
staring  at  him,  with  an  alert  curiosity  in  his  light  eyes. 

Ray  spurred  his  horse  forward,  throwing  back  a 
parting  word  and  gesture.  The  man  shuffled  inside 


368  A   BOSTON   GIIiL'S   AMBITIONS. 

his  front  gate,  and  leaned  on  it,  watching  the  horse- 
man disappear  up  the  road.  There  was  a  curious 
intelligence  and  interest  in  his  face. 

That  night,  Abijah  Eaves  did  something  which 
astonished  his  wife  ;  he  came  into  the  kitchen,  where 
she  was  frying  clams  for  supper,  and  handed  her, 
with  an  air  that  was  grotesquely  awkward,  a  large, 
yellow  marigold,  which  he  had  just  picked  outside, 
under  the  window.  Mrs.  Eaves  was  a  small,  dark, 
sharp-featured  woman ;  and  the  sunset,  that  shone 
through  the  small  window-panes,  brought  out  all  the 
lines  in  her  sallow  skin,  and  the  pinched  lips,  and 
the  withered  throat.  Ail  her  girlish  prettiness  had 
faded  long  ago,  under  disappointments,  and  hard 
labor,  and  narrow  circumstances. 

The  strong  scent  of  the  coarse  flower  mingled 
with  the  odors  of  the  frying  fat.  The  woman  held 
the  marigold,  and  stared  from  it  to  her  husband. 

"  What  under  the  canopy  do  you  s'pose  I  want 
with  this  marygool  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  thin  voice, 
that  would  have  been  fretful,  if  that  quality  had  not 
been  rather  held  in  abeyance,  for  the  moment,  by 
amazement. 

Abijah  Eaves  rubbed  the  right  leg  of  his  trousers 
in  his  slow  way.  "  I  thought  it  might  look  pretty, 
'Mandy,"  he  said,  "pinned  to  your  waist.  You 
remember  that  day  I  rowed  you  over  to  Huckleberry 
Cove.  You  was  a  nice-lookin',  plump  gal  that  time, 
with  as  p'utty  a  red  as  paintin'  in  your  cheeks.  It 
was  the  sight  o'  them  gin'  me  pluck  to  up  an'  pop 
the  question  then  and  there,  though  I'd  had  it  on 
my  mind  some  time  afore." 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  369 

Mrs.  Eaves  laughed  a  little  nervous  laugh,  and 
wiped  her  hot  face  with  her  apron.  She  stared 
again  from  her  husband  to  the  flower.  "  Sakes 
alive,  'Bijah  ! "  she  exclaimed;  "ef  I  ain't  beat,  to 
find  you've  got  any  such  foolishness  left  inside  o' 
ye!" 

That  night,  Mrs.  Eaves  had  blackberry  jam  on  the 
supper-table,  with  the  fried  clams ;  her  husband 
liked  it.  She  wore  a  handkerchief  around  her  neck, 
in  large  pink  and  purple  stripes,  among  which  the 
yellow  disk  of  marigold  was  conspicuous.  She  spoke 
in  unusually  mild  tones  to  Abijah.  The  little  dark, 
faded  woman  opposite  him  was  once  more,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  lank,  slow  man,  the  pretty  girl  who  had  sat  in 
the  boat,  and  smiled  and  blushed  at  his  wooing. 

But  the  wife  never  suspected  it  was  the  look  her 
husband  had  seen  in  Ray  Gathorpe's  eyes,  which  had 
stirred  that  old  memory  in  his  dull  thoughts. 

And  Abijah  Eaves  never,  on  his  part,  surmised 
that  his  stopping  3roung  Gathorpe  on  the  highway 
had  proved  the  immediate  cause  of  the  most  momen- 
tous crisis  of  Ray's  life. 


XL  VIII. 

DOERICE  had  turned  back  before  Ray  came  up 
with  her.  "  Do  excuse  me !  I  really  could  not  help 
it ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  swept  up,  and  wheeled 
Wizard  abreast  of  him.  What  a  dazzling  color  there 
was  in  her  eyes !  What  a  glory  of  loveliness  under 
that  small  riding-cap ! 

As  he  thought  this,  Ray  did  not  speak  for  a 
moment ;  but  his  eyes  regarded  her  with  something 
she  had  never  seen  in  them  before  ;  it  startled  her. 
Feeling  is  contagious.  A  flush  crept  slowly  into  her 
cheeks,  and,  for  the  first  time,  her  eyes  faltered  and 
fell  beneath  his  gaze.  A  strange,  swift,  delicious 
tumult  of  emotion  suddenly  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Its  intensity,  its  rapture, 
frightened  her. 

Then  she  heard  Ray  saying,  —  and  his  voice  did 
not  sound  quite  like  his  old  one,  —  "I  started  off  for 
you,  Miss  Dacres,  lest  you  should  ride  away  into  the 
sunset,  and  I  should  never  find  you  again." 

"  You  need  not  have  feared,"  she  tried  to  answer 
gayly.  "  I  am  not  made  of  elements  ethereal  enough 
to  vanish  like  the  dryads  and  naiads  of  the  delightful 
old  legends." 

The  ride  home  lay  for  miles  through  dusky,  odor- 
ous pine-woods,  not  so  dense  that  the  sunset  could 

370 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  371 

not  penetrate  them,  and  illuminate  the  mossy  boles, 
or  the  vines  and  lichens  that  spread  such  beautiful 
mottled  tapestries  upon  the  ground. 

The  young  man  and  woman  were  in  a  graver 
mood  on  their  return,  though  this  was  broken  occa- 
sionally by  flashes  of  gayest  talk  ;  but  it  might,  to  a 
nice  ear,  have  seemed  a  little  forced,  —  not  like  the 
unrestrained  merriment  with  which,  two  hours  be- 
fore, they  rode  down  to  the  sea. 

Once,  after  a  little  silence,  Dorrice  broke  out  sud- 
denly, "How  I  wish  Carryl  could  have  come  with 
us !  "  One  might  almost  have  fancied  there  was  a 
touch  of  remorse  in  her  tones. 

A  cold  shadow  fell  upon  Ray's  heart.  The  words 
seemed  to  set  the  woman  by  his  side  far  apart  from 
him.  Man  of  the  world  as  he  was  —  past  his  first 
youth  —  his  love  had  stolen  upon  him  unawares  — 
as  it  steals  upon  the  heart  of  a  fresh  maiden.  His 
relations  with  Dorrice  Dacres  had,  from  the  begin- 
ning, been  so  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of  things, 
that  his  interest  in  her  seemed  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.  The  events  of  the  past  must 
always  make  her  to  him  a  woman  set  apart  from  all 
other  women,  so  that  while,  with  his  growing  inti- 
macy, his  feeling  for  her  gained  momentum,  he 
never  suspected  the  goal  toward  which  it  was 
tending. 

His  unconsciousness  was  the  greater,  too,  because 
he  always  now,  as  at  the  beginning,  associated  her 
and  her  brother  together  in  all  his  thoughts  of  their 
future;  and,  by  this  time,  he  had  grown  to  love 
Dacres  better  than  any  other  man. 


372  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

In  previous  instances  where  his  fancy  had  been 
attracted,  he  was  keenly  alive  to  the  fact ;  his  clear 
perception,  and  his  fine  sense  of  honor,  had  saved  him 
from  any  impulsive  word  or  act  which  he  must  have 
regretted,  when  he  found  the  woman  who  had 
attracted  him  could  never  be  all  that  his  heart 
and  soul  craved  —  all  that  his  uncle  had  meant  in 
their  last  talk. 

It  was  inevitable  that  his  awakening  to  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  true  character  of  his  feeling  for 
Dorrice  Dacres  should  come  to  him  in  a  moment, 
and  with  the  force  of  absolute  conviction. 

As  they  rode  home  that  afternoon,  he  knew  that 
he  had  found  her  —  the  supreme  woman  at  last  — 
but  it  was  to  find  also  that  she  was  separated  from 
him  by  affections  so  central  and  engrossing  in  her 
life,  that  all  others  must  fall  immeasurably  below 
them. 

Ray's  intimacy  with  the  brother  and  sister  had 
only  served  to  deepen  his  sense  of  the  bond  existing 
between  them.  Their  affection  seemed  something 
organic.  Circumstances,  in  the  past,  no  doubt,  had 
much  to  do  with  it,  though  much  also  was  due  to 
something  essential  in  their  own  characters. 

All  this,  and  vastly  more,  Ray  Gathorpe  was  tell- 
ing himself  as  they  rode  through  the  sunset-illu- 
mined woods  that  night.  Darling  of  Fortune  as  the 
world  regarded  him,  her  gifts  had  not  spoiled  him. 
Those  only  who  knew  him  best,  knew  how  singu- 
larly free  he  was  from  personal  vanities.  He  was 
telling  himself  now  that  his  love  must  last  with  his 
life.  That,  perhaps,  was  natural  with  a  young  man 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  373 

and  a  lover.  But  it  was  less  natural  with  one  in 
his  situation  to  tell  himself,  as  he  did  in  all  good 
faith,  that  his  love  must  forever  be  hopeless. 

The  thought  of  Ray  Gathorpe  in  the  light  of  a 
lover,  had  never  entered  Dorrice's  mind.  Had  their 
early  acquaintance  been  of  the  ordinary  kind,  her 
consciousness  might  have  been  more  alert.  But  her 
feeling  for  him  seemed  altogether  right  and  natural. 
She  could  not  have  conceived  any  other  as  possible. 
For  it  was  a  feeling  which  struck  its  roots  away 
down  in  the  darkest  memory  —  the  crudest  hour  of 
her  life.  All  those  years,  when  there  seemed  no 
chance  of  her  ever  knowing  his  name  even,  he  had 
been  set  apart  in  her  grateful  thought  —  the  hero 
of  her  girlish  imagination.  Her  regard  for  him  had 
long  seemed  a  part  of  her  life ;  much  as,  in  a  dif- 
ferent way,  her  love  did  for  Carryl.  Her  instincts, 
which  usually  went  so  straight  to  the  mark,  would 
as  soon  have  questioned  one  sentiment  as  the  other. 

But  an  instant  of  that  afternoon  had  been  charged 
with  a  mysterious  power  to  move  her.  What  was 
that  delicious  tumult  that  had  shaken  soul  and 
body  as  she  rode  toward  Ray  Gathorpe  ?  What 
was  the  look  in  his  eyes  which  had  drawn  her 
toward  him  like  some  spell  of  irresistible  power 
and  rapture  ?  She  was  bewildered,  almost  fright- 
ened. Her  womanhood  had  taken  the  alarm.  She 
had  never  felt  like  that  toward  Carryl. 

The  horses  came  dashing  in  fine  style  up  the  drive 
at  Bylanes.  Carryl,  who  had  just  come  out,  was 
awaiting  them  by  the  west  portico.  The  young  men 
lifted  their  hats,  and  shouted  their  greeting  to  each 


374  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS'- 

other.  Then,  as  the  riders  drew  rein,  Carryl  turned 
to  his  sister,  saying,  "  Well,  dear  old  girl,  your  looks 
show  you  have  had  one  of  your  splendid  times  !  " 

Ray  felt  as  though  he  could  have  sprung  off  his 
horse  and  throttled  the  fellow.  The  idea  of  calling 
that  lovely  creature,  compounded  of  all  that  was 
finest  in  flesh  and  spirit,  "  dear  old  girl." 

The  next  instant  he  was  laughing  at  himself,  as 
the  most  incorrigible  of  fools. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Carryl  and  Dorrice  were 
standing  alone  in  the  portico,  Ray  having  excused 
himself,  and  gone  round  to  the  stable  with  the 
horses. 

They  turned  to  look  over  the  fair,  wide  landscape, 
and  off  at  the  west,  where  the  last  bright  splashes  of 
color  were  dulling  among  some  leaden-gray  clouds 
that  had  gathered  about  the  sunset;  and  then 
Don-ice's  gaze  came  back  to  her  brother's  face,  and 
dwelt  there  some  moments,  in  a  grave,  wistful  fash- 
ion. "  Carryl,"  she  said,  at  last,  drawing  closer  to 
him,  "  it  would  be  impossible  that  I  should  ever  care 
for  anybody  as  I  do  for  you  —  impossible  that  any- 
body should  ever  come  between  us." 

Carryl  stared  at  her  a  moment  in  blank  amaze- 
ment. Then  he  said,  in  a  half  ironical,  half  affec- 
tionate tone:  "Why  don't  you  kindly  assure  me 
the  heavens  are  not  just  going  to  fall !  I  should  as 
soon  think  of  troubling  myself  over  that  possibility 
as  over  the  other  thing.  Besides,  there  is  nobody  of 
whom  I  could  be  jealous,  unless  it  is  Mrs.  Kent  or 
Gathorpe  himself ! " 

He  laughed  a  half  amused,  half  incredulous  laugh. 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  375 

Dorrice  laughed  too,  but  there  was  a  little  odd  ring 
in  the  sound,  as  she  turned  and  went  indoors. 

She  came  down  that  evening  in  a  dress  which 
Carryl  had  brought  her  from  abroad.  It  was  a  soft 
crape,  of  palest  gold-color.  Across  the  waist,  trail- 
ing from  one  shoulder,  and  down  the  front  of  the 
skirt,  she  had  wrought  wild  lilies  of  deepest  crimson, 
with  leaves  and  stems  in  greens  and  browns.  On 
the  cuff  of  either  sleeve  lay  a  half-blossomed  lily, 
with  a  coil  of  brown  stem.  She  had  worked  these  in 
the  same  long,  rapid  stitch  with  which  she  had  once 
wrought  her  pomegranates.  The  effect  was  exqui- 
site. One  was  half  tempted  to  believe  that  real 
flowers,  and  glossy  leaves,  and  trailing  stems,  had 
been  scattered  over  the  robe. 

Dorrice  hovered  about  her  brother  that  night  in  a 
half  tender,  half  appealing  way,  almost  as  though 
she  were  conscious  of  having  done  him  some  secret 
wrong.  All  the  time,  too,  she  was  haunted  by  a  feel- 
ing that  the  indescribable  rapture  of  emotion  which 
had  shaken  her  one  moment,  was  biding  its  time  — 
that  it  was  fated  to  come  back  and  possess  her. 

Her  eyes  burned ;  there  was  an  unusual  glow  in 
her  cheeks.  She  was  all  in  arms  —  angry,  defiant, 
with  —  herself! 

"  Something  is  in  the  air  to-night !  "  Mrs.  Kent 
murmured  the  words  under  her  breath. 

But  Dorrice  was  so  radiantly  lovely  that  she  could 
not  keep  her  eyes  off  her. 

Neither  could  Ray  Gathorpe.  Once,  late  in  the 
evening,  he  happened  to  stand  near  Mrs.  Kent,  and 
directly  in  her  line  of  vision.  Dorrice  was  a  little 


376  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

way  off,  at  a  table  with  her  brother.  They  were 
looking  over  a  portfolio  of  fine  etchings,  with  some 
engravings  of  scenery  in  the  Scotch  Highlands ;  her 
hand  rested  on  Carryl's  shoulder;  he  was  relating 
one  of  his  rides  in  the  Highlands ;  her  profile  was 
turned  toward  the  others.  Mrs.  Kent  caught  the 
long  glance  which  Ray  bent  on  the  girl ;  his  heart 
was  in  his  eyes.  When  he  turned  and  came  toward 
her,  Mrs.  Kent  had  read  his  secret  —  she  knew  what 
was  in  the  air  that  night ! 


XLIX. 

THE  next  day  there  was  a  change  in  the  weather. 
Sharp,  chill  winds  blew  in  from  the  sea.  Wan, 
gloomy  clouds  spread  themselves  over  the  sky. 
From  the  upper  windows  at  Bylanes,  one  could  no 
longer  catch  the  silver-gray  or  the  sapphire  sparkle 
of  the  sea.  Great  masses  of  fog  moved  white  and 
spectral  over  the  land.  They  drowned  the  low,  dis- 
tant hills,  and  filled  the  air  with  the  coming  and 
going  of  wild,  silent,  mysterious  hosts. 

The  ladies  were  much  to  themselves  that  day. 
Letters  brought  him  at  breakfast  made  it  imperative 
that  Ray  should  go  to  the  city.  Carryl  accompanied 
him ;  but  not  until  Dorrice  had  exacted  a  promise 
that  he  would  return  that  night. 

Mrs.  Kent  noticed  that  she  was  in  a  restless  mood, 
that  she  moved  aimlessly  about  from  room  to  room, 
or  went  outside,  at  short  intervals,  into  the  damp, 
wind-swept  air.  Mrs.  Kent  had  her  own  thoughts, 
too,  which  kept  her  unusually  silent  during  the  day. 

At  night,  when  the  young  men  returned,  the  wind 
had  increased,  and  the  full  yellow  moon,  behind 
thick  clouds,  poured  only  a  faint,  weird  light  upon 
the  earth. 

That  evening,  the  four  gathered  in  the  room 
where  Kenneth  Gathorpe's  portrait  hung.  By  this 

377 


378    /        A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

time,  the  wind  had  risen  to  a  gale,  and  there  were 
angry  dashes  of  rain  at  the  windows.  The  line- 
storm  had  come. 

A  fire  had  been  kindled  on  the  hearth,  for  the  out- 
door chill  had  crept  into  the  house.  A  delightful 
sense  of  home-peace  pervaded  the  warm  atmosphere, 
the  cosey  room. 

"  I  have  been  feeling  all  day,"  said  Dorrice,  in  the 
voice  that  had  grown  to  be  the  sweetest  of  music  in 
Ray  Gathorpe's  ears,  "  that  our  northern  summer 
has  really  moved  southward.  Its  flowers  must 
bloom,  its  birds  must  sing  now  in  other  latitudes. 
One  never  feels  that,  until  after  the  equinoctial ; 
then, — no  matter  what  lovely  days  may  come, — 
one  knows  that  the  earth  —  our  part  of  it  —  must  be 
slowly  turning  her  face  toward  the  winter." 

She  sat  opposite  Ray  when  she  said  this.  She 
wore  a  black  silk,  that  night,  made  in  her  usual 
simple  style.  There  was  some  soft  lace  at  her 
throat,  and  below  that  a  bunch  of  chrysanthe- 
mums, their  brilliant  gold  streaked  with  rich  claret 
color. 

When  Ray's  eyes  left  her  face,  they  went  to  the 
one  over  the  mantel-piece.  The  room  in  which  he 
sat,  the  crackling  of  the  flames,  the  crying  of  the 
wind  outside,  —  all  brought  vividly  to  his  mind  that 
other  night,  eight  years  ago,  when  he  and  his  uncle 
sat  here  together  for  the  last  time. 

In  a  little  while,  Carryl  exclaimed:  "What  a 
tragic  sound  there  is  in  that  wind  !  It  would  be 
easy  for  a  fellow  to  let  his  imagination  run  riot 
on  it." 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  379 

"  The  wind  had  just  that  sound  one  night,  eight 
years  ago."  Ray  was  speaking  half  to  himself. 

Everybody  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Eight  years  ago,  did  you  say?"  Mrs.  Kent  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes ;  it  was  the  last  night  Uncle  Ken  and  I  were 
together.  We  were  alone  in  this  very  room." 

Nobody  spoke  after  that. 

"  But  the  tragedy  was  not  in  the  wind ;  it  was  in 
what  my  uncle  was  telling  me."  Ray's  voice  still 
sounded  much  like  one  who  talks  to  himself. 

"  Was  it  a  secret,  Ray  ? "  again  inquired  Mrs. 
Kent. 

"  Hardly  that ;  yet  I  have  never  repeated  it  to  a 
human  being.  It  was  something  that  happened  to 
my  uncle." 

"  Do  you  think,  if  he  were  here  to-night,  he  would 
not  be  ready  to  tell  us,  also,  Ray  ?  " 

When  his  old  friend  asked  that,  Ray's  gaze  went 
to  each  face  of  his  audience ;  but  it  was,  perhaps, 
some  unconscious,  pleading  curiosity  in  the  dark, 
magical  eyes  opposite  him  which  drew  him  on. 

"  It  happened  when  my  uncle  was  in  California 
the  first  time.  His  life  was  saved  when  it  did  not 
seem  worth  a  pin's  fee.  It  was  the  most  heroic  deed 
I  ever  heard  of ;  and  the  man  who  did  it  was  a  stran- 
ger. He  did  not  even  know  my  uncle's  name ;  yet 
he  proved  himself  ready  to  die  for  him." 

Mrs.  Kent  broke  the  silence.  "  Can  you  tell  us 
his  name,  Ray  ?  " 

He  was  about  to  answer  her,  when  he  paused.  "  I 
think  I  will  tell  you  the  story  first,"  he  said. 


380  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

The  old  words,  which  had  taken  such  hold  of  him 
at  the  time,  came  up  now,  and  he  related  the  whole 
story  in  his  uncle's  speech,  with  his  very  tones.  He 
began  with  his  visit  to  the  mining-camp,  and  for 
almost  an  hour,  his  audience  listened  in  breathless 
silence. 

He  had  just  reached  the  point  where  the  two  men 
met,  after  their  double  escape,  on  the  moonlit  high- 
way, when  Carryl  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Gathorpe," 
he  almost  shouted,  "  I  have  heard  that  story  before  !  " 

Ray  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.  "  When  — 
where  did  you  hear  it  ?  "  he  cried.  He  had  grown 
white. 

Carryl  put  his  hand,  in  a  slow,  bewildered  way,  to 
his  forehead.  "  Wait  one  moment,"  he  said.  "  It  will 
all  grow  clear  to  me."  His  voice  was  hardly  above 
a  whisper,  and  had  the  sound  of  one  whose  memory 
is  groping  far  away  among  dim  visions  or  dreams. 
He  turned,  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood 
there,  looking  out  into  the.  darkness,  but  not  see- 
ing it. 

Nobody  spoke ;  but  each  followed  him  with 
strained  eyes. 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned;  his  black  eyes 
burned  in  his  white  face.  "  It  has  all  come  back  !  " 
he  said,  in  clear,  decided  tones.  "  It  is  so  far  away 
that  it  had  slipped  beyond  the  dim  twilight  of 
my  memory ;  but  I  see  it  all  now,  plainly  as  I  see 
each  of  you  here  this  moment.  I  am  sitting  in  my 
mother's  lap ;  her  arms  are  around  me.  You,  Dor- 
rice,  are  a  baby,  asleep  in  the  cradle  by  our  side. 
She  is  telling  me  how  my  father  rode  across  the 


A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS.  381 

clearing  and  down  into  the  canon  to  save  the  stran- 
ger's life.  I  could  not  have  been  four  years  old." 

"What  was  your  father's  name?"  Ray's  voice 
was  not  like  his  own,  in  its  low  sternness. 

"  John  Dacres." 

"But  this  man's  name — the  name  he  told  my 
uncle  was  —  "  Ray  could  not  speak  it.  The  great 
strife  of  hope  and  fear  at  his  heart  turned  the  strong 
man  sick  and  tremulous. 

Then  he  heard  Dorrice's  voice  coming  into  the 
silence,  "  It  was  John  Graileson  Dacres." 


L. 

IT  was  long  past  midnight;  but  the  four  people 
still  sat  together  in  the  small  room  at  Bylanes.  By 
this  time,  fierce  blasts  drove  the  rain  against  the 
windows,  and  all  the  air  was  filled  with  the  cry  and 
roar  of  the  tempest ;  but  nobody  heeded  this,  or 
knew  that  the  leaping  flames  had  settled  into  red 
coals,  and  that  these  were  edged  with  gray  ashes. 

It  was  a  night  each  must  remember  to  his  latest 
one ;  for  the  mystery  which  had  baffled  Kenneth 
Gathorpe  so  long  was  at  last  cleared  up.  There 
could  be  no  possible  room  for  doubt  that  the  man 
who  rode  into  the  canon  to  save  Ray's  uncle's  life 
was  the  father  of  Carryl  and  Dorrice  Dacres. 

The  explanation  of  the  confusion  in  the  names 
was  a  very  simple  one.  John  Dacres  had,  after  his 
parents'  death,  which  occurred  before  he  was  ten 
years  old,  been  adopted  by  his  mother's  brother,  who 
had  never  been  married.  He  was  a  man  of  many 
oddities  of  temperament,  combined  with  much 
shrewdness  of  intellect  and  a  womanly  tenderness  of 
nature,  which  he  usually  attempted  to  disguise 
under  humorous  talk  and  manners,  —  all  these  quali- 
ties serving  to  make  Alexander  Graileson  a  most 
delightful  companion. 

382 


A  BOSTON  GIKL'S   AMBITIONS.  383 

He  had  been  doatingly  fond  of  his  nephew,  who, 
he  insisted,  should  bear  his  mother's  maiden  name, 
which  John  had  done  during  his  uncle's  life. 

One  of  the  man's  innate  oddities  had  shown  itself 
in  his  never  allowing  his  nephew  to  enter  college, 
though  he  spared  no  pains  to  provide  him  with  the 
best  of  tutors,  and  devoted  much  time,  in  his  odd, 
capricious  way,  to  the  education  of  the  youth. 

John  had  barely  reached  his  twentieth  year,  when 
his  uncle  died.  Later,  he  had  resumed  his  own 
name  ;  but  the  habit  of  his  boyhood  clung  to  him, 
more  or  less,  through  life.  In  any  hr.rry  or  excite- 
ment he  was  apt  to  recur  to  the  old  name  ;  indeed, 
Carryl  could  remember  his  mother's  rallying  his 
father  on  this  very  subject,  insisting  she  never  felt 
sure  of  the  name  she  would  find  at  the  end  of  his 
letters,  although  she  had  married  John  Dacres. 

With  this  knowledge  it  was  easy  to  understand 
how,  in  the  agitation  of  that  midnight  interview, 
young  Dacres  had  given  Kenneth  Gathorpe  the 
wrong  name. 

Other  things,  in  the  far  morning  of  his  childhood's 
memory,  rose  clear  this  night  to  Carryl  Dacres  ;  he 
remembered  his  mother's  look  as  she  said,  "  There 
was  not  another  man  in  the  world  who  would  have 
done  what  your  father  did  —  would  have  been  ready 
to  give  his  life  for  a  stranger,  whose  name,  even,  he 
did  not  know.  You  must  always  remember  that, 
Carryl ;  the  thought  must  make  you  a  good  and 
noble  man,  when  your  turn  comes  —  a  man  like  your 
father." 

He   recalled   something   else   she   told   him,    too. 


384  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

When  she  had  asked  her  husband  how  he  could 
have  risked  his  life  for  one  whom  he  had  seen  only  a 
few  minutes,  he  had  replied :  "  It  was  something  in 
his  look  and  manner,  in  his  very  tones,  that  made 
me  do  it,  Grace.  That  man  had  the  noblest  face  I 
had  ever  seen." 

When  Ray  heard  that,  he  was  silent  a  moment. 
Then  he  asked :  "  Do  you  remember,  Dacres,  what 
you  said  when  you  first  saw  that  portrait?  The 
words  were  like  your  father's  son." 

Some  time  afterward,  he  spoke,  looking  on  the 
brother  and  sister :  "  I  owe  to  your  father  the  best 
gift  of  my  life.  My  uncle  always  believed  I  should 
find  out  about  him  and  his  some  day."  A  moment 
later,  he  added,  fervently,  "  I  am  glad  it  was  to  your 
father  I  owe  it ;  I  would  rather  it  had  been  to  him 
than  any  man  in  the  world." 

Then  all  three  remembered  that  these  were  like 
the  words  Dorrice  had  once  said  to  him. 

Before  they  separated  that  night,  he  had  told  them 
of  the  soldier's  story  of  Champion's  Hill,  and  of 
the  bequest  —  so  long  awaiting  them  —  in  Kenneth 
Gathorpe's  will. 


LI. 

Two  days  had  passed.  The  storm  had  been  the 
fiercest  known  for  years  on  the  Massachusetts  coast. 
Wild,  white  seas  had  hurled  themselves  against  the 
rocks,  and  drowned  the  beaches,  and,  when  the 
winds  rushed  and  clamored,  it  seemed  as  though  all 
the  wild  hosts  of  Woden  had  gathered  in  the  air. 

But,  at  last,  the  clouds  broke,  and  the  drenched, 
storm-lashed  world  came  out  once  more  in  dazzling 
radiance.  At  Bylanes,  they  had  hardly  been  con- 
scious of  the  weather.  The  host  and  his  guests  had 
looked  at  each  other  with  wondering,  awe-struck 
eyes.  They  seemed  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
mystery  and  marvels.  When  they  were  together, 
they  spoke  but  little  of  what  was  always  uppermost 
in  their  consciousness. 

Carryl  and  Dorrice,  by  themselves,  talked  rather 
about  their  father  and  mother  than  about  the  be- 
quest which  had  come  to  them  in  so  wonderful  a 
manner,  and  which  could  effect  such  changes  in  their 
future. 

Dorrice  was  much  startled  with  something  Carryl 
said  to  her.  "  If  our  mother  had  lived,  instead  of 
dying  of  the  unutterable  joy  of  that  moment,  she 

385 


A  BOSTON   GIIIL'S   AMBITIONS. 

would  have  made  herself  known  to  Kenneth  Ga- 
thorpe.  I  am  sure  of  it.  She  knew  his  name,  and 
where  to  find  him.  All  her  love,  all  her  splendid 
courage,  which  had  proved  themselves  so  long  in 
silence  and  in  hiding,  would  have  roused  her  to 
prompt  action,  from  the  hour  in  whic'h  she  doubted 
that  horrible  story.  They  would  have  impelled  her 
to  seek  out  the  man  whose  life  my  father  had  saved, 
rather  than  any  of  her  old  friends.  She  would  have 
known  he,  of  all  others,  would  be  slowest  to  believe 
any  evil  of  her  husband.  She  would  have  appealed 
to  Kenneth  Gathorpe  by  one  memory,  and  for  the 
sake  of  her  children,  to  find  out  the  truth  ;  and  we 
know  what  he  would  have  done ;  how  easily  he  could 
have  unmasked  the  lie  ! 

"  I  see  you  are  right,  Carryl." 

All  her  mother's  spirit  shone  in  Don-ice's  eyes ; 
but  the  next  moment  she  was  sobbing  as  though  her 
heart  would  break. 

During  another  of  their  talks,  she  said  to  her 
brother,  in  a  low,  awed  tone :  "  We  shall  not  have  to 
wait  until  we  are  old  for  our  cottage  by  the  sea. 
How  curious  it  seems  that  the  dream  of  so  many 
years  can  come  true,  whenever  we  choose  !  " 

"  It  does,  indeed,  Dorrice." 

Then  they  both  thought  of  Mrs.  Kent.  At  last, 
Dorrice  said,  slowly  and  gravely,  "I  wonder  if  riches 
ever  seem,  when  they  come,  quite  all  they  did  when 
one  could  only  dream  about  them  !  " 

In  the  afternoon,  when  the  storm  had  disappeared, 
she  went  out  for  a  long  walk  in  the  grounds.  When 
she  came  inside,  she  turned,  with  a  sudden  impulse, 


A    BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  387 

at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  crossed  the  hall,  to  the 
room  where  the  old  man's  portrait  hung. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Ray  Gathorpe  opened  the 
door  ;  he  had  returned,  after  some  hours'  absence. 
When  he  caught  sight  of  the  figure  inside,  he  stood 
still  on  the  threshold.  Dorrice  was  so  absorbed  that 
she  did  not  see  him.  She  stood  in  front  of  the 
mantel-piece,  in  her  gray  dress,  her  shade-hat  in  her 
hands,  her  gaze  upturned  to  the  portrait.  There 
was  a  certain  awe,  a  tremulous  gladness  and  sweet- 
ness, in  her  face.  Flecks  of  sunlight  stirred  in  the 
brown  masses  of  her  hair.  Ray  devoured  the  sight, 
speechless,  spellbound,  until  his  instinct  warned  him 
it  was  time  to  make  his  presence  known. 

Dorrice  started  and  turned,  when  he  came  for- 
ward. There  was  a  faint  flush  in  her  cheeks.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Gathorpe,"  she  said.  "Tcaine 
in  here,  a  little  while  ago,  because  —  I  wanted  to 
have  a  long  look  at  your  uncle  again." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here,"  Ray  answered : 
and  the  wonderful  eyes  of  the  old  man  smiled  down 
upon  them  both  ;  and  Dorrice  thought  they  must 
have  once  looked  in  that  way  upon  her  father. 

Did  they  have  some  mysterious  power  to  draw 
Ray  Gathorpe's  heart  to  his  lips?  Nothing  could 
have  been  farther  from  his  purpose  than  the  words 
he  was  speaking  now.  "  Miss  Dacres,  may  I  tell 
you  all  that  my  uncle  said  to  me  that  night,  after  he 
had  related  what  your  father  had  done  for  him  ?  It 
has  never  passed  my  lips." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  so  very  glad  to  hear  !  " 

Then  Ray  Gathorpe  repeated,  word  for  word,  all 


388  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

that  his  uncle  had  said  to  him  the  last  night  of  his 
life. 

She  listened,  breathless,  motionless,  with  drooping 
profile  and  half-parted  lips,  to  the  strange,  solemn, 
beautiful  talk  of  the  old  man  to  the  young  one  — 
talk  whose  echoes,  it  seemed  to  her,  must  have  fol- 
lowed the  speaker  into  that  heaven  to  which  he  was 
passing. 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  something  for  which 
he  had  no  name  entered  into  and  possessed  Ray's 
being.  It  forced  him  to  speak ;  it  would,  he 
thought,  if  he  had  died  for  it  the  next  moment. 
"I  have  looked  for  her  long  —  I  have  found  her  at 
last — the  woman  who  could  be  to  me  all  that  my 
uncle  said  his  wife  was  to  him ! " 

And  now  his  eyes  were  on  her  face ;  he  knew  then 
that  the  words  lie  had  believed  he  should  carry 
unspoken  to  the  grave  would,  a  moment  later,  be 
in  her  ears,  —  that,  come  life  or  death,  he  must  speak 
them. 

Even  then,  she  did  not  understand.  She  was 
shaken,  bewildered,  by  the  look  in  his  eyes,  —  the 
very  look  to  which  she  rode  in  the  highway,  —  by 
all  that  she  had  learned  during  these  last  days, 
by  that  old,  delicious  tumult  that  was  thrilling 
heart  and  soul  and  sense  again. 

"  You  have  ! "  she  was  not  aware  when  the  low 
monosyllables  faltered  out. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  his  clear,  tender,  solemn  tones. 
"The  woman  my  heart  has  found  stands  by  my 
side!" 

There  was  one  dazzling,  overpowering  moment,  as 


A  BOSTON   GIRL'S   AMBITIONS.  389 

though  some  unspeakable  joy  and  splendor  had. 
come  close,  and  half  blinded  her.  Then  she  thought 
of  Carryl.  Was  this  the  betrayal  of  the  faith  and 
devotion  of  her  life  ?  She  grew  weak  with  the  swift 
reaction  from  that  transcendent  moment.  She  put 
up  her  hands  with  a  quick,  deprecating  gesture. 
"  Oh,  I  cannot  fail  Carryl  —  I  cannot  fail  him  ! "  she 
cried  out,  as  one  might  under  sudden,  intolerable 
pain. 

He  did  not  wince  ;  but  he  grew  very  white :  he 
—  the  heir  of  Bylanes  —  felt,  in  that  bitter  moment, 
that  the  world  had  nothing  left  for  him. 

She  saw  the  look  in  his  face.  With  one  long, 
fluttering  breath  she  turned  from  him,  and  walked 
across  the  room.  The  truth  came  to  her  —  calmed 
her  in  an  instant;  but  she  knew  that  it  was  the 
supreme  truth  and  blessedness  of  her  life  ;  and  that 
years  could  make  it  no  deeper  or  clearer. 

For  Dgrrice  Dacres  saw  now  that  her  feeling  for 
Ray  Gathorpe  was  not  what  she  had  so  long  believed 
—  one  of  deepest  gratitude  and  profoundest  admira- 
tion ;  she  knew  now  the  meaning  of  the  tumult 
which  had  shaken  her  when  she  rode  to  him  away 
from  the  sunset. 

When  she  came  back,  she  was  quite  calm  ;  she 
reached  out  her  hands  to  him.  When  the  cold, 
trembling  palms  had  nestled  in  his  own,  the  two 
looked  silently  in  each  other's  eyes,  and  in  that  long, 
tender,  solemn  gaze,  each  read  the  other's  heart. 

Then  they  kissed  each  other,  and  each  felt  that 
the  kiss  was  the  seal  of  their  betrothal. 

It   was    Dorrice    broke    the    silence.     Her    eyes 


390  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

went  up  again  to  the  portrait,  and  it  was  rather 
to  the  old  man  than  to  the  young  lover  at  her  side 
that  she  spoke,  low  and  tremulous:  "You  should 
have  chosen  a  better  woman,  Ray  Gathorpe,  to  be  to 
you  all  that  your  uncle  said  —  the  woman  his  wife 
was  to  him  1 " 


LII. 

A  HALF-HOUR  later,  Carryl  and  Mrs.  Kent  came  up 
one  of  the  side-paths  to  the  house.  They  had  hap- 
pened to  cross  each  other  in  the  grounds,  on  his 
return  from  the  city. 

As  they  entered  the  western  portico,  the  sunset 
flooded  the  skies  with  its  splendor.  In  the  horizon 
was  a  long,  broad  stretch  of  dazzling  gold,  and  above 
that  were  masses  of  crimson  and  dusky  reds,  shad- 
ing off  into  pale  purples  and  blues,  while  above  all 
this  bewilderment  of  color,  fleecy,  silver-gray  clouds 
rippled  almost  to  the  zenith,  their  edges  touched 
with  soft  pinks  and  pale  saffrons.  The  autumn  would 
not  probably  have  another  sunset  like  this,  which 
came  trailing  its  wide  glory  after  the  line-storm. 

The  voices  of  the  two,  as  they  paused  to  look  at 
the  sunset,  came  through  the  open  window,  and 
recalled  Ray  and  Dorrice  to  the  present. 

A  moment  later  the  door  opened,  and  the  young 
man  and  woman  came  out  on  the  portico.  Some- 
thing in  their  eyes  made  the  others  speechless. 

Kay  turned  to  Carryl ;  his  voice,  through  all  its 
exultant  gladness,  seemed  yet  like  that  of  one  who 
asks  for  grace  or  pardon :  "I  have  just  told  your 
sister  that  I  love  her,  and  she  has  promised  to  be  my 

wife ! " 

391 


392  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

Had  an  earthquake  shaken  the  ground  around 
them,  Carryl  Dacres  could  not  have  been  more 
totally  unprepared.  He  turned  to  his  sister. 

"  Dorrice !  "     He  could  not  say  any  more. 

"  Carryl !  " 

It  was  a  cry  no  words  could  interpret.  Her  very 
life  went  into  it  —  the  supreme  joy  of  the  present, 
and  all  the  memories  of  the  past.  There  was  some- 
thing, too,  that  doubted  and  feared,  and  appealed  to 
him.  They  stood  still  a  few  moments  looking  at 
each  other.  The  faces  of  both  were  colorless. 

But  as  he  looked  in  his  sister's  radiant  eyes,  the 
meaning  of  what  he  had  heard,  forced  itself  upon 
Carry  1's  consciousness ;  he  remembered  the  words 
which  Dorrice  had  said  to  him  a  few  days  ago,  as 
they  stood  in  that  very  place ;  his  gaze  went  doubt- 
fully to  Ray  for  a  moment,  and  then  came  back  to 
her.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  lived  years  in 
seconds ;  but,  at  last,  he  took  his  sister's  hand ;  his 
lips  trembled  as  he  said,  "Gathorpe,  it  would  have 
been  worse  than  death  if  any  other  man  had  asked 
me  to  give  him  —  this." 

And  he  laid  the  hand  in  Gathorpe's. 

The  two  young  men  looked  in  each  other's  eyes  ; 
and  forgot  everything  else  in  the  joy  of  one  con- 
sciousness: the  giving  and  the  taking  had  made 
them  brothers! 

They  all  turned  to  Mrs.  Kent.  "  I  have  believed 
this  hour  must  come,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
thanking  God  for  it." 

At  that  moment  the  sunset  poured  its  last  splendor 
upon  the  four  who  stood  in  the  portico  at  Bylanes. 


LIII. 

MKS.  KENT  did  not  learn  until  after  she  returned 
to  West  Newton  how  Ray  Gathorpe  and  Carryl 
Dacres  had  first  met.  The  brother  and  sister  had 
long  felt  it  was  right  their  friend  should  know,  but 
they  dreaded  the  pain  which  the  story  must  inevita- 
bly cause  her.  It  was  Carryl  who  told  her  at 
last. 

A  few  days  afterward,  Mrs.  Kent  wrote  to  her 
most  intimate  friend,  whom  she  had  intended  to  visit 
for  a  week  that  autumn  :  — 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  come  to  you,  Agnes,  at  the 
time  I  promised.  There  is  to  be  a  wedding  at  our 
house.  My  beloved  child,  Dorrice  Dacres,  is  to 
marry  the  nephew  of  my  old  friend,  Kenneth 
Gathorpe. 

"  The  wedding  is  to  be  absolutely  private.  The 
only  persons  present  will  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hallowell 
and  their  young  boy,  Tom,  and  a  Deacon  Spinner 
and  his  wife,  from  Foxlow. 

"  These  people  have,  at  critical  moments,  borne 
some  special  share  in  the  fortunes  of  the  brother  and 
sister. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear  Agnes,  how  the  pros- 
pect of  this  marriage  has  stirred  me.  It  has  brought 

393 


394  A  BOSTON  GIRL'S  AMBITIONS. 

back  something  of  the  light  and  fragrance  of  my 
own  youth. 

"  For  it  is  to  be  one  of  those  rare  unions  of  hearts 
and  tastes  and  intellectual  sympathies  which  go  far 
to  make  an  ideal  marriage  seem  possible,  in  a  world 
where  so  much,  disappoints  and  goes  wrong. 

"  Ray  Gathorpe  is  a  noble  young  soul ;  he  inherits 
many  of  the  finest  qualities  of  his  stanch  old  race ; 
and  the  two  will  dwell  habitually  on  the  same  plane 
of  thoughts,  aspirations,  purposes. 

"  You  know  something  of  what  Dorrice  is,  and 
how  her  quality  has  been  tested  in  the  past,  as  you 
know  more  of  her  history  than  anybody  but  myself. 

"  When  I  remember  the  hard  places  in  which  her 
young  days  fell,  and  see  her,  as  she  is  soon  to  be,  the 
graceful,  beautiful  mistress  of  Bylanes,  my  heart  is 
filled  with  a  great  wonder  and  joy;  yet  it  is  not 
chiefly  glad  because  of  the  pride  and  splendor  of  her 
new  fortunes,  but  because  of  the  great  love  that  has 
come  to  her,  and  because  she  will  be  the  heart  of 
that  grand  old  home  —  the  inspiration  and  helper  of 
all  that  is  finest  and  noblest  in  its  wide-radiating 
influences,  its  generosities,  its  life. 

"  Ah,  Agnes,  how  little  I  dreamed,  in  the  dark  and 
emptiness  of  a  few  years  ago,  that  so  much  romance 
and  poetry  —  such  a  fresh  flavor  and  fragrance  — 
would  come  into  my  own  life  ! 

"  The  young  people  insist  that  Bylanes  is  to  be 
quite  as  much  my  home  as  West  Newton.  Dorrice 
has  a  notion  — in  some  sense  a  mistaken  one  — that 
she  will  need  me  for  the  present. 

"  Dear,  when  you  think  of  your  old  friend  in  these 


A   BOSTON   GIRL'S    AMBITIONS.  395 

days,  think  that  the  words  often  on  her  lips,  of- 
tenest  in  her  heart,  for  these  young  people  and  for 
herself,  are  the  words  with  which  she  hopes  all  the 
griefs  and  struggles  and  losses  of  human  lives  will  at 
last  end :  —  '  Thank  God  ! ' 

"ESTHER  KENT." 


SOPHIE  MAY'S  "GROWN-UP"  BOOKS. 


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JANET,  A   POOR   HEIRESS. 

"The  heroine  of  this  story  is  a  true  girl.  An  imperious,  fault-finding, 
nnappreciative  father  alienates  her  love,  and  nearly  ruins  her  temper. 
The  mother  knows  the  father  is  at  fault,  but  does  not  dare  to  say  so. 
Then  comes  a  discovery,  that  she  is  only  an  adopted  daughter;  a  for- 
saking  of  the  eld  home;  a  life  of  strange  vicissitudes;  a  return;  a  mar 
riage  under  difficulties;  and  a  discovery,  that,  after  all,  she  is  an  heiress. 
The  story  is  certainly  a  very  attractive  one." —  Chicago  Interior. 

THE    DOCTOR'S    DAUGHTER. 

"Sophie  May,  author  of  the  renowned  Prudy  and  Dotty  books,  has 
achieved  another  triumph  in  the  new  book  with  this  title  just  issued, 
She  has  taken  '  a  new  departure '  this  time,  and  written  a  new  story  for 
grown-up  folks.  If  we  are  not  much  mistaken,  the  young  folks  will 
want  to  read  it,  as  much  as  the  old  folks  want  to  read  the  books  written 
for  the  young  ones.  It  is  a  splendid  story  for  all  ages."  —  Lynn  Semi 
Weekly  Recorder. 

THE    AGBURY    TWINS. 

"  The  announcement  of  another  work  by  this  charming  and  popular 
writer  will  be  heartily  welcomed  by  the  public.  And  in  this  sensible, 
fascinating  story  of  the  twin-sisters,  'Vic'  and  '  Van,'  they  have  before 
them  a  genuine  treat.  Vic  writes  her  story  in  one  chapter,  and  Van  in 
the  next,  and  so  on  through  the  book.  Van  is  frank,  honest,  and  practi- 
cal;  Vic  wild,  venturesome,  and  witty;  and  both  of  them  natural  and 
winning.  At  home  or  abroad,  they  are  true  to  their  individuality,  and 
see  things  with  their  own  eyes.  It  is  a  fresh,  delightful  volume,  well 
worthy  of  ita  gifted  author."  —  Boxton  Contributor. 

OUR    HELEN. 

" '  Our  Helen  '  is  Sophie  May's  latest  creation ;  and  she  is  a  bright, 
brave  girl,  that  the  young  people  will  all  like.  We  are  pleased  to  meet 
with  some  old  friends  in  the  book.  It  is  a  good  companion-book  for  the 
'Doctor's  Daughter,"  and  the  two  should  go  together.  Queer  old  Mrs. 
O'Xeil  still  lives,  to  indulge  in  the  reminiscences  of  the  young  men  of 
Machius ;  and  other  Quinnebasset  people  with  familiar  names  occasionally 
appear,  along  with  new  ones  who  are  worth  knowing.  '  Our  Helen  '  is  a 
noble  and  unselfish  girl,  but  with  a  mind  and  will  of  her  own ;  and  the 
contrast  between  her  and  pretty,  fascinating,  selfish  little  Sharley,  is  very 
finely  drawn.  Lee  &  Shepard  publish  it."  —  Ifolyoke  Transcript. 

QUINNEBASSET    GIRLS. 

"The  story  is  a  very  attractive  one,  as  free  from  the  sensational  and 
impossible  as  could  be  desired,  and  at  the  same  time  full  of  interest,  and 
pervaded  by  the  same  bright,  cheery  sunshine  that  we  find  in  the  author's 
earlier  books.  She  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  success  of  her  essay  in 
a  new  field  of  literature,  to  which  she  will  be  warmly  welcomed  by  thos« 
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J.  T.  TROWBRIDGE'S  NOVELS. 

NEW   UNIFORM    EDITION. 
FARNELL'S  FOLLY. 

••  As  a  Novel  of  American  Society,  this  book  has  never  been  surpassed. 
Hearty  in  style  and  wholesome  in  tone.  Its  pathos  often  melting!  to 
tears,  its  humor  always  exciting  merriment." 

CUDJO'S    CAVE. 

Like  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  this  thrilling  story  was  a  stimulating 
power  in  the  civil  war,  and  had  an  immense  sale.  Secretary  Chase,  01 
President  Lincoln's  cabinet,  said  of  it,  "I  could  not  help  reading  it:  it 
interested  and  impressed  me  profoundly.  ' 

THE    THREE    SCOUTS. 

Another  popular  book  of  the  same  stamp,  of  which  "The  Boston  Tran 
script"  said,  "It  promises  to  have  a  larger  sale  than  'Cudjo's  Cave.' 
It  is  impossible  to  open  the  volume  at  any  page  without  being  struck  by 
the  quick  movement  and  pervading  anecdote  of  the  story." 

THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 
A  Story  of  Burnside's  Expedition.    Illustrated  by  F.  O.  C.  BARLEY. 

"  The  most  popular  book  of  the  season.  It  will  sell  without  pushing." 
—  Zion'n  Herald. 

MARTIN    MERRIVALE:    His   X   Mark. 

"  Strong  in  humor,  pathos,  and  unabated  interest.  In  none  of  the  books 
issued  from  the  American  press  can  there  be  found  a  purer  or  more  deli- 
cate sentiment,  a  more  genuine  good  taste,  or  a  nicer  appreciation  and 
brighter  delineation  of  character."  —  English  Journal, 

NEIGHBOR    JACKWOOD. 

A  story  of  New-England  life  in  the  slave-tracking  days.  Dramatized 
for  the  Boston  Museum,  it  had  a  long  run  to  crowded  houses.  The  story 
Is  one  of  Trowbridge's  very  beet. 

COUPON    BONDS,  and  other  Stories. 

The  leading  story  is  undoubtedly  the  most  popular  of  Trowbridge's 
short  stories.  The  others  are  varied  in  character,  but  are  either  intensely 
interesting  or  "  highly  ammsiug." 

NEIGHBORS'    WIVES. 

An  ingenious  and  well-told  story.  Two  neighbors'  wives  are  tempted 
beyond  their  strength  to  resist,  and  steal  each  from  the  other.  One  is 
discovered  in  the  act,  under  ludicrous  and  humiliating  circumstances, 
but  fs  generously  pardoned,  with  a  promise  of  secrecy.  Of  course  she 
LM/a"8  her  secret,  and  of  course  perplexities  come.  It  is  a  capital  story. 

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BY:  Miss  AMANDA  M.  DOUGLAS. 
Uniform   Volumes.  Price  $1.50  each. 

A  WOMAN'S  INHERITANCE. 

'  Like  all  the  romances  of  Miss  Douglas,  this  story  hat*  a  fascination 
about  it  which  enchains  the  reader's  attention  until  the  end."  —  Balti- 
more NetM. 

OUT  OF  THE  WRECK ;    or,  was  it  a  Victory  ? 

"  l!i  iiiht  anil  entertaining  as  Miss  Douglas's  stories  always  are,  thi.n, 
her  new  one,  leads  them  all." — New-Bedford  Standard, 

FLOYD    GRANDON'S    HONOR. 

"Fascinating  throughout,  and  worthy  of  the  reputation  of  the  author." 
—  Philadelphia  Method  ixt. 

WHOM    KATHIE    MARRIED. 

Kathie  was  tin;  heroine  of  the  popular  series  of  Kathie  Stories  for 
jrouug  people,  the  readers  of  which  were  very  anxious  to  know  with 
whom  Kathie  settled  down  in  life.  Hence  this  story,  charmingly  written 

LOST    IN    A    GREAT    CITY. 

"There  is  the  power  of  delineation  and  robustness  of  expression  that 
would  credit  a  masculine  hand  in  the  present  volume,  and  the  reader 
will  atiio  stage  of  the  reading  regret  having  commenced  its  perusal.  lu 
some  parts  it  is  pathetic,  ever? to  eloquence."  —  San  Francisco  Post. 

THE    OLD    WOMAN    WHO    LIVED    IN    A    SHOE. 

"  The  romances  of  Miss  Douglas's  creation  are  all  thrillingly  interest- 
ing."—  Cambridge  Tribune. 

HOPE   MILLS ;  or,  Between  Friend  and  Sweetheart. 
"  Amanda  Douglas  is  one  of  the  favorite  authors  of  American  novel- 
readers."  —  Manchester  Mirror. 

FROM    HAND    TO    MOUTH. 

"There  is  real  satisfaction  in  reading  this  book,  from  the  fact  that  we 
can  so  readily  '  take  it  home  '  to  ourselves."  —  Portland  Argus. 

NELLY    KINNARD'S    KINGDOM. 

"  The  Hartford  Religious  Herald  "  says,  "  This  story  is  sc  fascinating, 
that  one  can  hardly  lay  it  down  after  taking  it  up." 

IN   TRUST;  or,  Dr.  Bertrand's  Household. 
"  She  writes  in  a  free,  fresh,  and  natural  way;  and  her  characters  are 
never  overdrawn."  —  Manchester  Mirror. 

CLAUDIA. 

"  The  plot  is  very  dramatic,  and  the  denoument  startling.  Claudia,  the 
heroine,  is  one  of  those  self-sacrificing  characters  which  it  is  the  glory  of 
the  female  sex  to  produce."  —  Boston  Journal. 

STEPHEN    DANE. 

"  This  is  one  of  this  author's  happiest  and  most  successful  attempts  at 
novel-writing,  for  which  a  grateful  public  will  applaud  her."  —  Herald. 

HOME    NOOK ;   or,  the  Crown  of  Duty. 

"  An  interesting  story  of  home-life,  not  wanting  in  incident,  and  written 
'.n  forcible  and  attractive  style."  — New-  York  Graphic. 

SYDNIE    ADRIANCE ;    or,  Trying  the  World. 
"  The  works  of  Miss  Douglas  have  stood  the  test  of  popular  judgment, 
and  become  the  fashion.     They  are  true,  natural  in  delineation,  pui-»  '»ud 
elevating  in  their  tone."  — Express,  Easton,  Penn. 

SEVEN    DAUGHTERS. 

The  charm  of  the  story  is  the  perfectly  natural  and  home-likfe  ai.  fttucih 
(•ervades  it.  

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HIS   TRIUMPH. 

"  A  sprightly  story  is  '  His  Triumph,'  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  It  opena 
with  a  wedding,  and  ends  with  a  renunciation.  We  read  of  two  run- 
aways, of  lovers'  letters,  of  a  haunted  house,  a  debutante,  and  all  of  th« 
romance  and  reality  that  pertain  to  a  well-conceived  and  well-told  story. 
Mrs.  Denison  is  a  skilful  story-teller,  and  '  Ilis  Triumph '  is  also  her 
triumph."  —  Philadelphia  Keystone. 

LIKE   A    GENTLEMAN. 

"The  story  of  one  who  drank  '  like  a  gentleman  '  is  one  of  Mrs.  Den. 
ison's  best  stories.  The  lovers  of  romance  will  pronounce  this  story 
charming,  and  be  all  the  more  pleased  with  it  because  some  of  the  char- 
acters are  purer,  sweeter,  and  nobler  than  are  often  found  in  real  life. 
The  incidents  are  thrilling,  the  plot  interesAig,  the  story  well  told." 

ROTHMELL. 

"  The  style  is  clear  and  bright,  abounding  in  little  novel  pictures  and 
delicate  touches.  Uothmell,  the  principal  hero,  is  a  brilliant  surgeon, 
with  a  magnetic  eye,  but  a  penchant  in  earlier  life  for  marrying  rich 
women,  which,  indulged  in,  gives  him  considerable  after  trouble."  — 
Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

THAT    WIFE    OF    MINE. 

"  There  is  now  and  then  a  touch  of  genuine  pathos.  Its  incidents,  its 
characters,  its  language,  are  of  the  every -day  sort :  but  its  very  sim- 
plicity and  naturalness  give  it  a  charm  to  the  ordinary  reader;  and  it  is 
undeniably  pure  and  healthful  in  iu  tone.  We  must  pronounce  '  That 
Wife  of  Mine  '  an  excellent  book  of  its  kind."  —  Boxton  Journal. 

THAT    HUSBAND    OF    MINE. 

"  It  is  as  bright  and  cheery  as  a  sunbeam.  Sparkles  like  dewdrops- 
Full  of  good  humor,  with  a  great  deal  of  patience.  It  teaches  you  how 
to  get  a  husband,  how  to  manage  one,  and  how  an  engagement  can  be 
broken.  It  will  amuse  you  and  make  you  laugh.  After  reading  the  first 
page,  you  will  feel  like  joining  in  the  pursuit  of  'That  Husband  of 
Mine.'  " 

MR.    PETER    CREWITT. 

"  '  Peter  Crewitt,'  from  the  same  house,  is  a  Dickens-sort  of  a  story. 
.  .  .  There  are  passages  of  pathos,  of  moralizing,  of  pointed  ridicule  and 
satire,  that  would  do  credit  to  the  ablest  novelist.  The  average  novel- 
reader  will  become  quite  infatuated  over  '  Peter  Crewitt.'  "  —  Advertiser, 
Elmira,  N.Y. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers  and  newsdealers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postpaid, 
on  r»r°if>  of  price. 

I.I.I.   AND  SHEPARD,  Publishers,  Boston. 


20719 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000201365    4 


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